Attention Tim Blair!

Michelle Obama has got that head tilt thing going on. I like the little pout, don't you? Like she's asking for another serving of ice cream--not that she would! Do you think Boko Haram will honor her plea? Statecraft in action!

I'll take your word for it, it's a masterpiece

The best books that ever sat on a shelf unread.

Predictions of the future

Actually, who predicts the past? But let that go.

But aside from that, if the Republicans win the next presidency, (although I have faith they will pick the dullest, stupidest candidate) the homeless, who you never read about during the Obama administration, will start flooding the streets of American cities.

Among them will be decorated veterans, many with limbs missing, and small children. This great mass of homeless will take to the streets the day after inauguration, January 2017.

Remember, you read it here first.

The things I did not learn in school

I went to a very Progressive private school. We did not learn stupid stuff like the alphabet or multiplication tables. I had to teach myself these things later in life. It's tough to look things up in a dictionary if you don't know the alphabet. I also found the multiplication tables handy later in life.

However, we did learn a lot of songs (in Spanish) from the Spanish Civil War. Also a lot of propaganda from the Soviet Union. And folk songs by Pete Seeger. So my time there was not wasted.

Using small household items to fix things

My Keurig coffee maker was not functioning properly, so I looked at their website for a fix. The first step recommended on the website was "Find a paper clip and straighten it out." A paper clip! I seem to remember them from the 20th century, but haven't seen one in years.

The whole procedure outlined on their website reminded me of an incident on the Jackie Gleason show, where Trixie and Alice fixed a car with a bobby pin, to the consternation of their husbands.

I could not find a paper clip but a straight pin luckily did the trick. I poked holes in the thing until it came to its senses and started to dispense coffee.

This painting has been selected

by the Lancaster County Arts association for their upcoming show.

The wrong kind of black man

Liberals are as upset with Clarence Thomas as with George W Bush. The temerity of him, having opinions different from them--it's as upsetting as if a chess piece had made its own move.

A (liberal) young lady who is a relative of mine attended a lecture by Anita Hill. She thought Hill sounded credible.

So what? If all her accusations against Thomas were true, he was not guilty of any crime. He did not force her to go out with him. He did not demote or fire her. The worst he could be accused of is bad taste. As for Hill, testifying against Thomas was her best career move of a lifetime. How else in the world would she be commanding substantial fees for speaking to a group? Is she distinguished as a lawyer or a law professor, has she written notable scholarly articles? Not to my knowledge. Her main achievement in life appears to be as the albatross around the neck of Justice Thomas.

How long has it been since Justice Thomas's confirmation hearing? 20 years or more--look it up if you care to. I know I was much younger then, and so was he, and so was she. If anything ever falls into the category of old news, this is it. Heard anything of Bill Clinton's capers in the White House recently? Neither have I.

Thomas would not stand a chance of confirmation nowadays. The professional liberals are now willing to admit openly how much they loathe a black man whose ideas differ from theirs. They don't need the fig leaf of an Anita Hill's testimony; their rancor would be sufficient to prevent him from being confirmed.

Chris Christie's doom

It's so easy to destroy a politician; to make it impossible for anyone to take him seriously ever again. Dan Quayle did himself in when he spelled potato wrongly; he was forever branded as stupid. No brilliant idea or action could save him from the wrath of the evil potatoe. His political career went up in smoke.

Edmund Muskie is an example of the same thing from the other side of the aisle. He had tears in his eyes at some political event and was ever after regarded as a sniveling idiot. And don't forget Michael Dukakis in the tank. No amount of military weaponry could save him after that.

Now it's Chris Christie's turn. The news media tried to go after him for being fat, but the American people were not impressed; they could afford to lose a few pounds themselves and did not hold his excessive avoirdupois against him.  After all, their ancestors had elected William Howard Taft to the Presidency, and he had to have a new bathtub ordered especially for him.

But Christie has finally met his match. He submitted his e-mails and all his correspondence to a committee which found him guiltless, but a lot of good that did him. All his opponents have to do is say "George Washington Bridge" and no-one, including the Pope, can save his political career. The chinek hackers are after him, and will pound on that tea kettle forever.

The pleasure is all mine.

The young man at Whole Foods who helped me put my groceries in my car was certainly happier than the occasion warranted. As he waved away the tip I was trying to give him, he said: "It was lovely to share this moment with you!" Do you think he meant it, or does he just come from California?

Important police work

Police in Peoria, IL invaded a citizen's home and dragged said citizen off to jail for posting to a Twitter account parodying the Mayor of said town.

That's why the cops need those red light cameras and speed traps: ticketing people individually takes lots of time and personal effort. So does showing up at the scene of an auto accident, which they no longer do either.

I used to believe that the police used the time they saved to sleep in their patrol cars or play games on their computers. Now I know they were involved in worthwhile activities like harassing their employers, the citizens who pay them.

E-Z Money

I was an early adopter of E-Z Pass. I must have been using it for twenty years. I was sold on this service with the promise that I would save both time and money. We were promised discounts of 10 percent or more. The promise of time saved has worked out. The money aspect, not so much.

The discount is long gone. Theoretically, time is the only thing saved. To be fair,it is.

E-Z Pass takes money from your credit card, in advance. The last amount they took was $135. But when my credit card was stolen, I had to get a new number, and E Z Pass had no way of knowing that, so they simply stopped accepting my transponder, without explanation.

So I racked up $36 in toll payments due and $98 in "administrative fees." Nice little profit point there.

Another government racket. like red light cameras and speed traps; Take money from the customer's credit card in advance, money which the customer could theoretically invest, then charge him punitive fines without notifying him in advance. Government is in the three card monte business.

More from Longwood Gardens Conservatory

Longwood Gardens

In the Conservatory--not much is blooming outdoors.

It is Spring, and it's starting to show. The trees are different; they are not greening yet, but they are alive in a different way. Expectant! Flowers and shrubs that are yellow are showing their colors. And since this is poetry week, I thought this one was suitable:

Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

>Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed--and gazed--but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

William Wordsworth

Post this on your bulletin board, Al Gore!

Of the innumerable authors whose performances are thus treasured up in magnificent obscurity [in a library], most are forgotten, because they never deserved to be remembered, and owed the honours which they once obtained, not to judgment or to genius, to labour or to art, but to the prejudice of faction, the strategems of intrigue, or the servility of adulation. Nothing is more common than to find men, whose works are now totally neglected, mentioned with praises by their contemporaries as the oracles of their age, and the legislators of science." Johnson: Rambler #106 (March 23, 1751)

Frustrated

I not only can't upload pictures to blogger, now I can't upload links. The thing is becoming more dysfunctional by the day.

If I were able to post something, which I am not, I would comment on the attire of generals. It struck me, on observing the general who gave a press statement on the latest shooting at Fort Hood was wearing combat fatigues. Now I am pretty sure that the military has dress uniforms for military officers. Some of them even include swords! What is the use of military officers if they don't get dressed up? Check out the photos of General McArthur wading ashore at the Phillipines. Did he look special or what? And when he accepted the surrender of Japan on a naval vessel, with the emperor wearing top hat and tails, did McArthur let the side down by wearing something more suitable for cleaning out the garage?

Yes, even General Petraeus wore fatigues when testifying before Congress. If that is not an occasion demanding formal wear, what is? Yet the general looked like he was wearing his jammies, albeit with a chest full of medals.

If I ever testify before Congress, which is highly unlikely, I will dress up in a fetching business suit or becoming dress, not in my paint-stained blue jeans. But that's just me.

Sorry I could not deliver the free book. It was difficult to get it up at the Kindle Store, but it is up now. Called "Nothing Much," it sells for $1.99. My daughter handled it all or it would not be up at all. Wow! I am recommending it to all my friends. Maybe. Now I have to complete my income tax.

Free book! Apply now!

To all my readers, a group for whom I do not have to rent a large hall: I will send you a preview copy of my new Kindle book, tentativeely called "Nothing Much," All you have to do is turn in a favorable review to Amazon. No, forget it, just comments and suggestions would be enough.

What about all those library books?

I should stay away from libraries. They are all right when staffed by people who report to me, when I run up a total of 50 overdue books everyone takes it as a good joke. And the children's librarian has a longer list than me. But the local libraries insist I play by their rules.

About that latest library book I lost: Damn it, I didn't even finish reading it!I have looked everywhere at least twice, and am beginning to entertain the idea that I dug a hole in the garden and buried it, Except, wait!--the ground has been too hard to dig in as well as covered with snow.

I keep trying to reduce my inventory of books, which are not only filling shelves but exploding in piles in every room. No one can believe the number of books I donate to the AAUW, the Good Will, and other charities. But they keep multiplying.

Hocking a chinek

The Democrats like to choose some meaningless phrase and run with it; right now it's racism of those who disapprove of Obama's actions. I remember when it was "No war for oil." Well, we had the war--where's the oil?

These mantras are meaningless; they are never expanded upon or explicated. This is what bubbe called "hocking a chinek," which I discovered after arduous research, means, beating on a teakettle--preferably an empty one, I suppose, or tea would get all over everything.

still reading deTocqoeville

I just got to the part where he foresees the weakness and eventual disappearance of the federal government. We all know how that one came out. I think I can stop reading him now.

Curses on Amazon Marketplace

I left my coat in California. It's in its third season, so I looked for a new one. I thought they would be dirt cheap, since the Winter is almost over. I got the dirt part right.

Being someone who doesn't know enough to come in out of the rain, I ignored the fact that this coat did not come from Amazon itself--thereby not being shipped free-- but from one of its associates. So they charged me $15 for delivery of a fifteen dollar coat. It was awful and did not fit.

I e-mailed them for permission to return the wretched thing, and they sent me directions, which included me paying postage(!)

So I bundled it up and took it to the post office, where I paid $12.72 to ship if back. So I paid 27.72 for a coat I don't even own. It's worth it though, I didn't want to have the thing in my face all the time, demonstrating to me what a fool I had been.

Anybody got a meaningful epigraph?

While you are puzzling your head re a title for my book. how about coming up with a classy epigaph--preferably from The Wasteland? Or something in Latin, like Justicia fiat or Dolce et decorum pro patria mori. Neither of these works, somehow.

Downton Abbey for Dummies

I am the only person I know who does not care for Downton Abbey. All my friends watch it faithfully. I liked the clothes in the early segments, but drifted away when World War one entered the picture. People fantasize about living in the early years of the twentieth century, thinking they would be members of the Upper Crust, bossing around a house full of servants and living a life of leisure and ease. Myself, I am pretty sure that if I had lived during those times I would have been below stairs, probably a tweeny who had to get up while it was still dark and light the fires and bring shaving water up six flights of stairs to the gentry. I do love the clothes, though. They look very elegant on the cast. The very few photographs I have of my ancestors in this garb are not flattering, though, possibly because you had to hold still for twenty minutes to have your picture taken. Oh yes, and they wore corsets.

Now reading de Tocqueville

It rankles me to see people, starting with Bill Clinton, quoting de Tocqueville, to wit:  "America is great, because America is good."  This saccharine statement would never come from a Frenchman, especially one as discerning and intelligent as Count Charles Alexis Henri Maurice Clerel de Tocqueville.  It sounds more like something a pitchman selling a baldness cure would say on paid television programming.

So I have taken it upon myself to read his masterwork, "Democracy in America," in full.  I have in my hand the Complete and Unabridged Volumes I and II.  Unfortunately I neglected to read it in college, not even the Cliff Notes which were undoubtedly consulted by Bill Clinton, because I was so busy thinking about boys and fixing my hair in the latest styles. By the way, this work is far harder and less fun than "Michelangelo and the Pope's ceiling." Just so you know.

I dug in to the first few chapters and found myself reviewing the material I learned in the compulsory civics class  I took in eighth grade in Columbus, Ohio.   Talk about deja vu!  To be fair, French children don't have to take the course, so de Tocqueville clued them in.  Now any French person interested in American municipal government can learn all about it in the original French.

I don't think Americans are any better than anyone else, or greater. We have a better system of government, and that is what deTocqueville is trying to explain, but it takes two volumes to do it.

By the way, someone got snarky with me because I mis-spelled exhilerating. Or, er, ex--oh, the hell with it! It never looks right no matter how you spell it, so I am going to leave it alone in the future.

More about Michelangelo and the Pope

Julie Z asked me how Ross King knew that Michelangelo used a scaffold.  I scoured the book and came up with an answer:  M wrote a poem about it, illustrated with a sketch of him painting the ceiling, reaching his arms above his head and bending backwards like Ginger Rogers dancing with Fred Astaire--okay, not leaning that much, but definitely leaning, and complaining about it.  As he seemed to complain about everything, especially his rotten family, a bunch of do-nothing brothers who just lounged around his father's house, enlarging their carbon footprints.

Now I am reading about Robert E Lee, a biography by Charles Bracelen Flood.  It's almost a hagiography.  Apparently Lee had some quality that led other men to like him, look up to him, and follow him, even unto death.  He was offered the command of Union forces, but turned it down, unwilling to fight against his native state, Virginia.

Apparently he had something that did not outlast his life.  Call it charisma.  I remember how people worshipped Roosevelt when I was a tot.  Nowadays he is receding into history, but Churchill said that meeting him was exhilarating, like your first taste of champagne. 

Update:  Apparently leaning back to paint had little or no ill effect on Michelangelo, who died at 89.

George Washington Bridge scandal--or is it?

The brouhaha about theGeorge Washington Bridge scandal raises some questions about the intelligence and efficacy of the plotters.  The lane closings were meant to wreak vengeance on the mayor and citizens of Fort Lee, but did that happen?  Most of the frustrated drivers who were inconvenienced at the bridge were simply traveling through Fort Lee.  Fort Lee was not their destination; they simply had to go through it  to get from Point A to Point B.

Most people who use the GWB come from elsewhere, not necessarily even elsewhere in New Jersey.  People commute from as far away as Upstate New York and Pennsylvania.  They take the bridge (or one of the tunnels) because Manhattan is  an island; they work on the island, but live elsewhere.  So in what way did these lane closings single out the residents of Fort Lee?  This was just a bunch of dumb politicians playing games with the public welfare because they could.  I can't imagine Christie having anything to do with it.   He seems to me an intelligent man and an effective politician.

It's terribly frustrating to commute via the bridge at all.  I once lived in Westchester County but worked in New Jersey.  It took me an hour and a half to get  20 miles to work.   By the time I arrived at my destination I was a gibbering idiot.  It took me an hour to calm down.  On evenings when there was a baseball game at Yankee Stadium, it took two and a half hours.  In fact, I sometimes headed up to the Tappan Zee Bridge just to avoid the inevitable traffic jams on the GWB.

What to do when it snows

My default position on occasions like this: Open a book; read the whole thing; put it down; open another. Rinse and repeat. If I followed my natural inclination I would sit and read all day. But that is a good way to get nuts. After a while I start to think I am a fictional character, and look behind me to see if I have cast a shadow.

So I exercise, take a walk, watch a movie, cook something, eat something, clean something, call someone, do laundry. Or blog, perhaps about something I am reading. I am now reading about Michelangelo and how he came to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. It is called "Michelangelo and the Pope's ceiling," by Ross King. I bought the book at the Good Will store, a place where you never know what books you will find.

He was first hired to design a tomb for the Pope, Julius II. Julius was not one of those namby pamby popes such as we have today, always going on about charity, greed, yada, yada, and other things he knows little or nothing about. Julius was a patron of the arts with a bad temper. A really bad temper, so bad that he used to beat up the people around him, like a schoolboy. He beat up his servants when they displeased him, and sometimes beat up anyone he felt like beating up. He also hired soldiers to beat up other nations. The Venetian Ambassador to the Vatican, on his deathbed, said that one of the reasons he didn't mind dying was that when dead he would not have to cope with Julius, patron of the arts as he might be.

Anyway, I hate to disappoint anyone who has visions of Michelangelo lying on his back while painting the aforementioned ceiling. He had a scaffold built and he and his subordinates stood on a platform to paint. It was tough enough as it was. The ceiling had to be painted while it was wet.

Breaking news from 1935

I found the following valentine to Obamacare above the fold in the Delaware newspaper:

Health woes just part of history

Popular federal programs were target for early criticism, too

Although multiple problems have snarled the rollout of President Barack Obama's signature health care law, it's hardly the first time a new, sprawling government program has been beset by early technical glitches, political hostility and gloom-and-doom denouncements. President Franklin D. Roosevelt faced heavy skepticism with his launch of Social Security in 1935-37. Turbulence also rocked subsequent key presidential initiatives, including Lyndon Johnson's rollout of Medicare and Medicaid in 1965, Richard Nixon's Supplemental Security Income program in 1974 and George W. Bush's Medicare prescription drugs program in 2006. Yet these programs today are enormously popular with recipients. ... After FDR kicked off Social Security in 1937, Washington's pre-computer age bureaucrats faced enormous hurdles enrolling people for the old-age benefits. Many had the same or similar names. Not all employers kept detailed records on employees and how much they were paid, further complicating the process.

The online version of the News Journal has scrubbed the story, undoubtedly feeling embarrassed, and they ought to be. If readers don't know what happened in 1935, this is not the place to learn it today. I found it on Newsbusters. It was written by some clapped-out AP hack called Tom Raum. And appeared above the fold! Words fail me.Even this failing, unreadable rag has exceeded my expectations.

Still more about Hannibal

Did you know Hannibal practiced diversity? No kidding. His troops included Carthaginians (Semites), Numidians (black, I think), Gauls, and various Italians he picked up during the course of his long rampage, and God knows what else. This multicultural gang enjoyed pillaging, raping and enslaving their enemies in perfect harmony, without a cross word. And they killed them in large numbers. Of course, their enemies would have done it to them if they could. So that makes it all right.

Anyway, that's the way business was conducted in the ancient world.

I just finished reading about the Battle of Cannae. What a bloodbath! And to think the Romans came back after that. But Hannibal certainly gave them something to think about.

My apologies to those of my readers to whom this is all old stuff.

More about Hannibal

By chance I acquired an atlas of the ancient world. I was particularly interested in tracing Hannibal's route to Rome. I didn't even know exactly where Carthage was. What a brilliant feat of logistics! I know, everyone else knew all about this and I am just catching up. But what a military genius he was! It was not all about the elephants, of whom there were 37. It was about finding enemies and allies along the route. And crossing rivers with the aforementioned elephants. And don't forget the Alps. And deceiving the enemy about his route. Don't tell me how it turns out; I haven't finished reading the book yet. I know he spent 17 years away from home.

I'm only reading this in short bits, because I am concurrently reading a book about the Pope and Leonardo da Vinci and the Sistine Chapel.

My dad's painting

 

Euphemism

Words are used in such a namby pamby way nowadays! I was looking up a nursing home today which provides memory care. They don't care for your memories, or restore them. They take care of those who have lost their wits and cannot care for themselves. What they do is laudable and worth doing, so why hide behind a euphemism?

Why are personnel departments human resources? Is working in a personnel office something to be ashamed of?

What about school resource officers, known in the real world as cops?

My father's paintings--and mine

My father took up painting in his latter years, and he was pretty good, too. He liked to paint urban scenes. But when he died in 1911, only a few of his paintings went to family members. For one reason, most of them were very large. So dozens were left, and his wife had no room for them in her new apartment. So she proposed to put them in her daughter's attic. It is amazing how many people think paintings, furniture, and musical instruments don't need special care, such as climate control. Someone donated a piano to our library, which gussied up the place no end, but was almost unplayable because the sounding board was warped. But I digress.

I took a few of dad's paintings, gave one or two to my kids, and hung two in my house, where looking at them gives me great pleasure. But the disposition of the rest made me think about my own paintings.

Not all my paintings are great successes, although I work hard on them. Some are boring or banal. Those I either put aside for further work or discard. Some I paint over. One or two I have managed to sell, or give to friends.But the vast majority, the ones that came out well, are mostly hanging on my walls. And my walls are full. Adding a room is not an option--I already have 8.

I often see paintings by unknowns, like me, in my favorite retail outlet, the Good Will. Some of them are very good and are worthy of more that the $20-50 that they fetch, mainly for the frames.

So, except for a treasured few, I would like to sell or give away my paintings.

Hannibal

I buy lots of books at the Good Will, my favorite hangout. In fact, I buy better books at the Good Will than I often get at the local public library, and I don't have to return them, either. Sometimes I find something really good, or something which I like to read, which is not necessarily the same thing at all.

Here are a couple of books I found recently at the Good Will: War of the Worlds, by H G Wells, which looks interesting at the very least, and a biography of Hannibal. I thought it might be interesting to know something about Hannibal, in case he comes up in conversation some time, which is very likely, don't you think? I don't know anything about Hannibal, but then I don't know anything about the people I read about in People Magazine, except those named Kardashian.

I would be ashamed to pass myself off as an educated person without knowing anything about Hannibal, who I understand came over the Alps with elephants to attack the Romans. Or maybe not. All my knowledge of Ancient Rome comes from novels by Stephen Saylor, Robert Harris, or John Maddox Roberts, except for a furtive look into Everyday Life in Ancient Rome while at the reference desk, and somehow I failed to obtain the facts about Hannibal from these sources.

So onward and upward with Hannibal, in case there is a quiz.

Memorial statue in Brandywine Park

 

Brandywine Park, Wilmington DE March 17, 2009

The last full measure of devotion

African American War Memorial, Brandywine Park

 

I heart the Civil War

When I have nothing better to do, (which is often) I read about the Civil War. Mr Charm was a devotee of this conflict, and collected lots of books about it. If you can pry your mind off the fact that it was a bloodbath which destroyed a large number of the country's youngest and bravest men, it's fun to read about. I have read the memoirs of Grant and Sherman and now am reading those of Phil Sheridan.

Writing your memoirs is a great way to set the record straight and to settle old scores, and Sheridan takes full advantage of this. If you want to know who the blockheads and incompetents were on the government side, in Sheridan's view, you will find out here. Like many Irishmen, he was a good hater.

He was also very smart, a superb leader of men, and a hothead. He got in trouble at West Point for his bellicose attitude and graduated in the bottom third of his class. However, he seems to have learned some useful things there.

Thank heaven November is here

Every day during October, Turner Classic Movies featured scary films. I don't like scary films, or scary stories. I consider real life scary enough

.

I've been scared all my life. I was the kid who was scared to ride on the merry-go-round without an armed guard, or at least a parent. The Saturday serials featured at my local movie house found me cowering under the seat until someone told me it was over. If I ever attended a movie that was a bit frightening I couldn't sleep and kept pestering mom and dad to explain that Dracula was not on the front lawn and Frankenstein was not planning to descend from the chimney. But how did they know?

And then there was the fear that Hitler would win World War II and come to Columbus OH to kill me. That one was not so far-fetched.

I was scared of everyone in my high school who was older than me, which was everyone, since my parents thought I was old enough to go to high school at the age of eleven. It wasn't until my third year of college that I was able to relax because some of the students were younger than me.

I get scared every time the mailman, Deliverer of Doom, brings me a letter from the IRS. Or my insurance carrier.

Most inappropriate holiday gift of the season--so far

I probably would have considered this funnier a few years ago.  But two years' visiting a nursing home regularly have kind of taken the fun out of it.

It's probably funnier to see someone in a power chair or a walker if that someone isn't you.

Newly engaged--Medicare and Aetna Insurance

The happy couple are living together for the present.

Aetna is my secondary insurance company, after Medicare. They keep sending me these warm, caring computer-generated letters advising me that a nurse practitioner is available to handle my queries or that maybe I need my blood sugar checked. I wish they would forgo these communiques and apply the postage saved to lowering my premiums, which are $475 a month.

They have a new dodge now. They are certifying which Medicare customers are allowed to get the free flu shots mandated by the government, by mailing the worthy ones a blue plastic card.

No cardee, no shirtee.

A person who has Medicare without a supplement can get a flu shot by reporting to a site which offers the shots. Usually a drugstore. A person who has Medicare and Aetna needs a blue card. This is because Medicare and Aetna have an agreement; Aetna pays for the shot and Medicare reimburses them. So Aetna is in a position to allow or prevent me from getting a flu shot.

Why?

Since when do I need the permission of an insurance company to receive a government-funded service to which all are entitled?

Just wait until Obamacare kicks in.

Happy Halloween

 

Special pleading

The truly egregious Philadelphia Inquirer suggests people smoke because they are hungry:

Many people smoke after they've eaten. Lindell Harvey smokes because he hasn't.

"You smoke out of anxiety because you don't have the food you need," said Harvey, 54, who lives alone in Crum Lynne, Delaware County. He receives disability checks from the Navy that keep him $2,000 below the poverty line.

Harvey relies on his Newports to see him through his hard days. "In my mind, the smoking becomes a comfort as I try to create ways to get food."

In lives where people endure a dearth of nearly everything important - food, jobs, medical care, a safe place to live - the poor suffer an abundance of one thing:

Nicotine.

This is deplorable in so many ways: 1) He get $2,000 less than the poverty rate. This is poorly worded, but I think it means his income is below the federally defined poverty rate for one individual, so that he is eligible for SNAP, the federal food stamp program. 2) a pack of cigarettes costs $5-6, an amount which will buy you a meal at McDonalds or Burger King, a meal laden with calories but cheap, tasty, and filling. 3)No-one is forcing this man to smoke, he has free will just like the rest of us. Let's just skirt the issue of why a 54-year-old man is on disability, I will concede that his disability is valid, although everyone I know who is in their fifties has at least one job. .

Unsubscribe me!

D

on't Get me started about unwanted e-mail offers. I keep trying to unsubscribe from their solicitation. Though sorry to see me go, they will respect my wishes and unsubscribe me. But it will take 10 days.

Why? Isn't this done by a computer? Why 10 days,when amazon.com will deliver a new house, fully assembled and furnished, in 5?

Well maybe they won't, but still...it's the principle of the thing.

I keep picturing the headquarters of these sleazy outfits as being old and rackety like the newsroom pictured in the Front Page, circa 1955. People are sitting at typewriters, smoking cigars.

There's only one computer, a Wang original. Only one person understands the arcane computer system-a middle aged woman named Flo,*and she only comes in on Tuesday, every other week. When she shows up she opens her Starbucks cup and wearily unsubscribes the 11,974 accounts that have come in since her last visit, but never is able to get the list up to date, because she is only there for 5 hours. Picture the back-up on the VA claim system and you get the idea.

* On the other hand, she might be called Mildred or Bessie.

So good luck, flo, or Mildred or Bessie, and remind your bosses that i have no need for more insurance, or for my credit score and I sure don't need those penis extenders

Reading dr Johnson

I was looking for a quote I've heard repeated numberless times. It goes something like this: "No one but a blockhead ever writes for anything but money"--no, no, that's not it "Only a fool would write except for money"--also wrong, wrong, wrong. But anyway you want to put it, it does not sound right. Dr Johnson put it much better--, If he did, I can't find it. And I'm not going to go through his books, or read Boswell from cover to cover. The Internet exists to answer questions like that. Or else why did Al Gore bother to invent it? I found a few other quotes which are just as good if not better.The quotation, recorded by Boswell in his book, A Tour to the Hebrides, and again in the great biography, goes on: “. . . for being in a ship is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned . . . a man in a jail has more room, better food, and commonly better company.” This is what I tell my cousin who wants me to go on a cruise, anyway. All this is leading up to an apology, or justification, for the many faults of my blogging. I don't revise much, because I'm not getting paid. When I write for publication, I spend more time revising or searching for the mot juste, because someone is paying me. When I am blogging, I try to avoid egregious mistakes and to use correct spelling and punctuation, but that's all. This stuff is ephemeral, after all. My greatest hits are about English towns with silly names or Mercedes Benz being the car favored by dictators. How important could that be?

Light hearted

Some of my neighbors really go overboard decorating their houses for the season--any season. Already two of them have charming Halloween decorations up, and it's not even October. I envy people who go to so much trouble and expense to celebrate these events. Clearly they are light hearted, joyful folks who enjoy every occasion to the max. I wish I were more like that.

Halloween was the holiday Mr Charm liked best, involving as it did candy and little kids, both of which he enjoyed. But dressing up or carving a pumpkin--certainly not.

I looked forward to Christmas when I first got married and wanted to decorate something---- but Mr Charm would have none of it. He loathed Christmas so intensely that the Grinch could have profited by taking his tutorial on the subject. He hated Christmas trees, lights, decorations, angels, Christmas carols on the radio, and all the rest of the collateral damage. Since Christmas is ubiquitous everywhere from Halloween on--stores decorated, feeble-minded songs about Mommy kissing Santa Claus, this was the time of year he hated more. He is the only person I know who longed for the bleak days of January.

About those charter schools...

New York City parents of school children have to choose between deteriorating public schools and charter schools. Once upon a time, parents had another choice. Catholic schools in urban areas served lower class and middle class children, doing a more than adequate job of educating them to be citizens and even to aspire higher. Lately the Catholic Church in its wisdom has closed many of those schools, particularly in urban areas. My impression, which is based on nothing but gut feeling, is that Catholic schools remain only in affluent areas. Urban kids are shit out of luck. Of course, we can all still sent our kids to Sidwell Friends School, where the presidents' children are enrolled. Can't we? Actually no. The Democrats in Congress eliminated a program whereby a few fortunate Washington DC poor kids were allowed to attend private schools on the government dime, even though these programs were popular, with hundreds of parents applying to the program, although only a small number were actually able to participate. Teddy Roosevelt sent his children to Washington DC public schools, back in the day when public school was for everyone. Nowadays they are for the desperate and the choiceless.

How to tell if someone is getting a divorce without actually asking them

Now that I have so many friends on Facebook, some of whom I have actually met in the flesh, I am seeing more of a trend among divorcees. I first noticed this trend when I was still in the library biz, because so many librarians are women. But I notice it more now that I have so many friends all over the country.

No-one wants to flat out inform their friends, one by one, that a marriage is over. But there is a tell which shrewd observer will pick up on 90 percent of the time. Say a woman's birth name was Susan Smith, and she married a man called Andrews a long time ago. She got tired of Mr Andrews, threw him out, and is getting a divorce. But she doesn't want to give up the Andrews surname right away, maybe because they have children. So she calls herself Susan Smith Andrews, or Susan Smith-Andrews.

After a while she doesn't want to be called Andrews any more. She wants a whole new life. Maybe she wants to date, or to meet new people. So she reverts to Susan Smith.

Usually, about this time, she buys a new car.

Girl on couch

 

A chat with Amazon

Me:I ordered a car cleaning service from something calling itself Amazon Local. They did not offer the service but billed me. Is this a swindle?

Vinit:Hello Miriam, my name is Vinit I'm sorry to hear about that. I'll be happy to help you today.

Me:So, is it a swindle or not. It doesn't show on my open orders, but they billed me all right.

Vinit:In order to access your account, I need to verify some information. Can you please confirm the complete name, e-mail address, and billing address on your account?

Me:Miriam xxxxx

Vinit:There you go, Thank you for providing me the details Miriam. Could you please hold for a minute or two while I look into this for you?

Thank you for being on hold Miriam. I've checked your order history and I couldn't find any order placed for the item which you had mentioned above. In this case, I would request you to contact Amazon local as they will be in a better position to assist you in locating your order.

You could contact them on: E-mail: Send a message via this online form: https://local.amazon.com/help Phone: Call 866-395-2090

Me:Well, I wish you'd inform Mastercard. They billed me and I paid it. $89! An expensive lesson.

Vinit:I understand Miriam, but since the order was placed through Amazon local we won't be able to take any action regarding this. I would request you to contact Amazon local on the above given number and they will be able to issue you a refund for the order which you've been charged for.

Me:Don't you stand behind Amazon Local? They are using your name to swindle customers. This means your name is not worth anything.

Vinit:We definitely stand by Amazon Local, Miriam. I'd request contact Local team regarding this issue and we will help.

Me:Why doesn't this appear on my orders? I think it's a swindle and you should be ashamed of yourselves for selling something you don't back up I wonder how many other people fell for this.

Vinit:I'll inform the concerned department as well regarding this, they will take appropriate action on the seller. Orders placed on Amazon local will there on that website, Miriam. As the website works independently, the orders will be present in that account. So I requested to contact them.

I hate healthy food.

I don't really go for the whole healthy food vibe. There are too many cars in the parking lot with "Coexist!" bumper stickers on fancy cars that I could never afford. Also I am a great fancier of genetically modified food. I go to Whole Foods weekly because I like Brown Cow yogurt, the unhealthy, bad-for-you full fat kind with cream on top. Yum! It's probably the most unhealthy thing you can buy in the place.

I needed bread, so with great trepidation I checked out the bread department. The bread department is where the health food fanatics really let themselves go. The selections were awful. None of them were anything my ancestors would have recognized as bread. No challah! And no rye bread! I could understand this if the store were in Utah, but we're talking Philadelphia suburbs here. Anyway, I was too lazy to go elsewhere, so I bought some 7 grain stuff.

This bread--I was going to say it tastes nasty, but that would be unjust. It doesn't taste nasty; it doesn't taste like anything. It is the anti-taste. If you make a tuna fish sandwich out of it, it kills the taste of the tuna fish. Likewise with egg salad. You can't taste the butter on your buttered toast. And you can't taste the bacon on a blt. Criminal!

But what does it really taste like, you ask? Well, when I was a child in school I used to chew on Faber #2 pencils. This bread tastes sort of like that. Without the lead, of course.

Boring polticians

I'm reading the new biography of Margaret Thetcher, and I must admit it's heavy lifting, in more ways than one. For one thing, the author doesn't particularly like Thatcher; he believes she has no interior life. He can't comprehend a somewhat colorless lower middle class woman who, if I'm reading it correctly, was smart but not sensationally so. So, if she did not master any material or pass a test, she redoubled her efforts and slogged through the work required until she had done her absolute best.

A true Englishwoman with a stiff upper lip you could bounce bullets off, she was the diametric opposite of the lip-biting Bill Clinton, who shared his pain in Macy's window for all the world to see. She seems to have been temperamentally a true conservative by nature. Even in her youth, she never entertained liberal views. She appears to have been honest; there were no scandals or corruption in her administration. She made her husband breakfast every day that it was humanly possible to do so, and if her marriage was not happy no-one knew, and they will not find out now. She took her secrets to the grave.

She was a true straight arrow who apparently analyzed the problems of her country with dogged determination until she decided what was the right course, and then followed that course. She was not one to waste her time and energy on wishful thinking but preferred to face facts. The most dramatic event of her administration was the battle with Argentina over the Falklands, which seemed to excite her and revive patriotism among the British.

It's tough to read about such a colorless, and basically boring person, especially after reading about a colorful and flamboyant character like Winston Churchill. The American politician she most resembles is Calvin Coolidge, a man of great reserve from a New England which had not yet embraced the emotional virtues of the Kennedy family. Neither of these made a parade of compassion, or said anything particularly witty or memorable. Both, however, presided over periods of great prosperity.

News, or maybe it's not news at all

While Mr Charm was in the nursing home I missed the evening news, to my great benefit. After he died, I continued the practice of not watching the news. But I can't get away from it any more.

The news has followed me to the gym, and it's all about Syria and what if anything we are going to do. We are not going to send soldiers there, oh dear no! The present plan is that we are going to bomb certain strategic targets, taking care to inform Assad what they are well in advance, so he can pull his assets out. And oh yes, we are going to get Congress to agree to this. Or not. Some time in the not so distant future.

Obama is angry that Bashir al-Assad is killing innocent Syrian civilians with poison gas. It is okay for him to carry on killing them by other means, but friends don't kill friends with poison gas. Assad is probably scared silly by the threatening language and ominous frowns coming from our leader.

My best guess as to the outcome of all this? Since there are still plenty of Syrians left, the evil dictator is probably going to kill some more of them, pour encourage les autres. And Obama is going out in the back yard and eat worms. After he finishes a round of golf.

Obama reminds me of the hero of the book, A Paper Mask. This man, though not a surgeon, is mistaken for one, and it is to his advantage to continue the deception. He can't make a mistake, as he is surrounded by competent people, other doctors and nurses, who will guide him and advise him and keep the patients from harm. But then his support network fails him, and he is revealed as the contemptible fraud he is,

Car trouble in the family

I don't think dad actually found his car missing at the curb when he left the house, but he came close. Mother had a habit of lending his car to one of her brothers when either of them needed it. She didn't discuss this ahead of time with him, as he would only have made a fuss, which would have done him no good because she had determined that whichever of her brothers needed the car needed it more than dad, being as they were doctors. So she informed him around the time he was putting on his coat, preparatory to getting in said car. He was hopping mad, only partly because her brothers were such awful drivers. Uncle Moe was the less dangerous one, as he drove cautiously and timidly, knowing he was not a good driver. Uncle Doc, however, was a terror behind the wheel. He would change lanes by turning on his turn signal and then changing lanes without looking in his mirror to see if there was anyone already in the lane, among other little peculiarities pf his driving style. That was probably why whichever brother who had borrowed the car had taken it to the body shop, having had an accident. But he was a doctor and had patients to visit, not to mention his patients in the hospital he needed to see, and dad could just as well take the bus as he was only a lawyer, like her, and the bus came to a corner only two blocks away and the weather was not that bad. Dad was actually a good driver who enjoyed driving until he died at 99, despite some sourpusses in the family who wanted him to give up his car.

Defending the post office

Why is everyone knocking the post office? I personally am totally happy with their service. They actually come to my house--of course Congress is going to put a stop to that! They are planning to cut Saturday service, or maybe only deliver mail 3 to 4 times a week. And Conservatives are constantly knocking the service. Shame on you, Conservatives. If you want to get rid of a government agency, here are a few suggestions: the IRS, the Education Department, the State Department--I could think of more if I had the time. How far would you carry a letter for 50 cents? Or even a dollar? Not bloody far, I'll bet.

Everything in the garden is humming

Every evening, as I get ready for bed, I open the bedroom window, not for the fresh air, but for the sounds in the garden. I'm not a naturalist, so I can't say for certain how the insects in the garden make their indescribable but delicious night music. Maybe they rub their feet together, if they have feet, or maybe they are playing teeny tiny musical instruments. Anyway, the garden is alive with summer sounds and I dread the day that autumn comes and stills their music.

On Sanibel Island, long ago

 

Knocking around

Mr Charm used to call a certain type of clothing "knocking around clothes." These were garments, including shoes,that you would wear around the house, mostly, or for chores like washing the car, weeding the garden, or at most, an emergency trip to Target.>

As far as I can see, these are the only kind of clothes anyone wears nowadays, unless they wear something worse, like going shirtless to mow the lawn with your belly hanging over your belt, or wearing your trousers so low that the bottoms scrape the ground and your underwear shows--and it's not particularly nice underwear, or even necessarily clean. But that last is only the business of your mom, so I won't comment on it.

The aisles of Macy's, Boscov's, Kohl's, Nieman Marcus and Nordstrom are loaded with lovely garments for men, women, and kids. Even the Good Will has lots of nice things. Judging by the looks of the customers, though, nobody is buying them. No wonder we have a recession. The average person around here looks like they last purchased their garments early in the second Bush administration. Not George Herbert Walker Bush, but the other guy, the one who was such a blockhead that he made all foreigners hate and despise us and whose favorite form of exercise was trampling our civil liberties.

But I digress. No one could have obtained size 16 men's pink shoes with grass green laces in 2008. So I guess they are buying some sort of clothes nowadays. To go with the tattoos.

Letter to Wells Fargo

Dear Wells Fargo Collections Department--I really don't know your name, but it's nice to make your acquaintance. How is your day? I hope it is a pleasant one.

Mine has not been so pleasant. As of today, I have received five letters and more robo-calls than I can count from you. As it happens, you are in error, and I electronically forwarded $2,000 to this account from my checking account before your latest series of recriminations. It was your error, not mine. Of course I don't expect an apology; Wells Fargo doesn't believe in such niceties. But it would be a refreshing change if you did not act so high and mighty--as if you were a king in Babylon and I were a Christian slave, so to speak.

Perhaps it would be as well to remember that you are investing the money your customers deposit in your bank. You are not actually doing us a favor by condescending to let us park our money in your bank. Remember also, my dear old Collections Department, that there is 8 percent unemployment out there, and there is an excellent chance that you could join the ranks of the unemployed if you don't treat your customers with respect.

Mr Charm and Trayvon

Mr Charm was the son of a single mother and a high school dropout. He was white, and had never done anything criminal, but those are the only differences. He would have had a bleak existence except for one thing: he was drafted. It was during the Korean War.

The army made all the difference. He had a rather quiet two years, drinking beer and eating rich pastries in Austria. In the part of Austria he was in, they spoke German, not Austrian. (Couldn't resist.)

But it wasn't his wartime experience that made the difference. It was the G I Bill of Rights. Next to the Homestead Act, I think it was the most influential piece of legislation Congress has ever passed. It gave thousands of young men a chance at a better life, among them Mr Charm.

He went to Brooklyn College, a selective institution but one that had no tuition. That in itself was a miracle; he thrived at Brooklyn College, and the rest is history.

Trayvon Martin's life was wasted. At seventeen, he had plenty of time ahead to straighten out his life. Tragically, he never had a chance. I'm guessing his parents gave him no guidance but let him run wild, unlike Dr Ben Carson's mother. They probably gave him no guidance because they never got any. Again, I'm guessing, but I have met dozens like him among my mother's clientele.

On visiting day in any prison you can see the next generation; young mothers, with their children dressed up in Sunday clothes, come to visit their baby daddies.

You can't say these young men and women don't care about their kids; clearly they do. They lack parenting skills, and the schools they attend are pathetic. Since we can't start with the parents, perhaps we could start with the education these kids are getting, an education that suits the teachers'unions just fine.

I don't have an answwer, but it grieves me that a generation of black youth is squandered.

Fixing your tummy--a practical approach

I know at least two people who have had hideous things done to their colon, stomach or other viscera and after an initial weight loss, are just as fat as ever. And then there's Chris Christie. It seems that there are a lot of medical procedures that don't really work but continue to be performed.

Can I make a suggestion? Everyone is always banging on about the fat around your waist and how hazardous it is to your health. It's true that in maturity people tend to get a spare tire around the waist. It happened to me. My weight stayed the same but a small but firm pillow lodged itself just above the belly button and shows every sign of having taken up permanent residence. So why can't the oh-so-brilliant doctors who are removing and remodeling our insides just suction out all the fat? I would be the first person to volunteer for the procedure.

Another trip down memory lane

 

Photo of my mother

Originally this was a picture of me and my mother. But, as she often did, she tore the part with her likeness off, making the picture very weird. Mother often did this to pictures of herself, as she hated to have her picture taken while she was fat. Consequently we have only a handful of pictures of her.. She never did lose weight. Nevertheless we loved her and wouldn't mind having more pictures of her to remember her as she was. I have no idea why this gibberish appears. Posting pix to blogger is like swimming with cement shoes. : 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"> 

Family picture

 

I finally was able to load a picture onto blogger--don't even remember how it happened. This photo was taken eons ago, when dinosaurs roamed the earth and our children were little. Also, my feet were perfect. Nowadays I feel like I have rocks in my shoes--not pebbles, boulders.

Too hot

Everyone who can manage it is away this weekend, and if I had sense I'd be away too. Mostly I've been hanging around taking care of administrative stuff, like writing the IRS asking them not to send me any more computer generated requests for my 2010 return, which they seem to keep losing no matter how often I submit it. The there's all the health stuff, from teeth to feet.

I'm not having too bad a time of it, actually. I've got some interesting books to read; only some of them are about the Civil War, which seems to be my new obsession. I was never that interested in the Civil War; it was Mr Charm's cup of tea. But he left so many books about it that I started to get interested in it.

So I've been puttering around the house, reading books about the Civil War (or not), watching old movies, eating the occasional sandwich or something. The only thing that bothers me a little is that I am starting to feel like a fictitious character. possibly one from the work of Barbara Pym. Well, I'd rather dwell in a Barbara Pym book than one by, say, Joyce Carol Oates.

Sexual harassment victim dies

I read Virginia Johnson's obituary this morning in the local paper. The obit was by Jim Salter, Associated Press.

It turns out Ms Johnson, a single mother of two, went to work at the medical school of Washington University as a secretary. Now the bit which has since been scrubbed from the online version:

It was a strange indoctrination: Masters convinced her that having sex with him was part of the job.

Lucky for Dr Masters that he was not a hapless male college student, for instance, a Duke Lacrosse team member, in the 21st century, or he would have been--shall we say, screwed?

Had he been a Republican, say a Wall Street lawyer, we would consider this sexual harassment. Actually, it was sexual harassment, if the term means anything. Moreover, it is morally appalling.

But Masters is one of the gods of our time, and can do no wrong. If he did it, it wasn't sexual harassment. It was science.

The story goes on to laud Masters:

"He was a rigorous scientist most comfortable in a white coat," said Dr Robert Kolodny

I wonder if he took off the white coat at certain appropriate times?

I'm not sure whether their work was valid science, either. I consider it Al Gore Science--you know, the settled kind? Nobody is going to argue with it, at risk of being called a Christian or something equally appalling.

What's wrong with Wells Fargo Online?

I am not the only one with complaints. This awful bank's awful website is a nightmare. It has been down for a solid week. I have been forced to pay several bills by mail. But I can't acccess my account to see what's in it.

Doing well by doing good

The director of Delaware's United Way gets a pay raise.

Dozens of charities are scrambling to keep their programs running in the wake of funding cuts from the United Way of Delaware, which fell short of its campaign goal this year but managed to give its executive director a pay raise and bonus.

The cuts come as nonprofits struggle to make ends meet after several economically disastrous years. The groups have trimmed programs, staff and overhead costs, frozen salaries for years and pursued new revenue sources wherever they can find them, their leaders said.

[] “

One item that escaped the ax is the salary of United Way President Michelle Taylor, who made about $257,000 last year and received a raise and a bonus this year, although officials would not offer specifics. In 2012, the organization’s budget was $20.7 million.

Those documents show that from 2010 to 2012, Taylor’s income, including bonuses and benefits, rose 35 percent while the United Way’s income dropped by 15 percent.

United Way also gets to keep around 10 percent of contributions--sort of like an agent's fee, if you had an agent and weren't a non-profit organization trying to survive.

Sweet deal, isn't it?

These United Way thugs go to citizens' workplaces and try to persuade the employees to kick in out of their paychecks. The money can be taken right out of your paycheck, saving you the trouble of writing a check or something hard like that.

Needless to say, they won't be getting anything out of me. You can check out charities on the web, and find out how much of the money they raise goes to "administrative expenses." The Salvation Army, among others, spends very little on these.

Domestic violence

And it wasn't even my own domicile. Some backstory first, to set the scene. My hairdresser operates out of her house, specifically out of her basement. When I walked into the house, there was a certain je ne sais quois in the air. Her husband was sitting in the kitchen, looking both grim and downcast. We went downstairs to her studio. With a face that looked like thunder, she seized a huge hank of hair from the left side of my face and hacked off a huge piece of it. It was about an inch and a half long, and she continued to hack away at it. She then proceeded to do the same thing on the other side. I couldn't see what she was doing on top of my head, but when she was done it felt like a three day growth of stubble. Yuck. I truly didn't recognize myself. It turns out, dear reader, that she and her husband had had a quarrel.

Urban hospital setting

I just returned from the University of Pennsylvania Hospital gynecology Department without seeing the doctor. The place looked like photos I have seen of Ellis Island, only these huddled masses weren't huddling; they were eating, drinking, talking on their cell phones, shushing or feeding their babies. It was like the emergency room in a large urban hospital, only no-one was actually bleeding. After a couple of hours, I went to the desk and asked the receptionist if I would be seen soon. She told me that there were plenty of people ahead of me. Apparently this was a clinic they held once a month. But why I had to be there on that particular day was not explained. The room didn't actually have a sign over the door: "Abandon hope ye who enter here," but the vibe was definitely there. There were too many people there, doing too many things to too many patients. Something told me I would not like to be treated in this hospital or by these people. So I decamped. The search for a surgeon moves forward.

Our career as brewmasters

I can't believe I never mentioned it, but Mr Charm and I once brewed our own beer. It was not bad either.

We got the idea from a neighbor and fellow graduate student. He made his own beer, due to being an impoverished graduate student. We were pretty poor ourselves, and had a couple of years more to go before Mr C got his PhD. We had tried hand rolling our own cigarettes, but it was tedious and hard to do. We bought a little machine to roll them with, tobacco, and cigarette paper. The hard part was getting the right amount of tobacco in each cigarette--and you'd be surprised how difficult that was, and in the end, more than we bargained for. So we got rid of the machine, the papers, the tobacco, and eventually, the habit of smoking.

But, back to the beer. We discovered that our local supermarket sold malted barley with hops. Yeast was also available, I can't remember what kind. You mixed the barley with the yeast, put it in a large crock, which we placed in the corner of the kitchen. I believe water was also involved, but I don't remember. Occasionally a burbling sound came from the crock, as if a frog had taken up residence in it. After a certain number of days, we strained it into washed soda bottles, which we capped with a bottle capping tool. You had to be careful pouring it out, as there was about a quarter-inch of sediment in the bottom. But it tasted okay, and we kept up making it for a while.

The problem was that this beer had a punch. Ordinary beer has about 6 percent alcohol, but ours had about 20 percent. Mr Charm found he could not drink it with his dinner and then prepare for the next day's classes, because he was pie-eyed. I didn't have to teach classes, but I just lurched around the kitchen, totally forgetting to put the kids to bed, or wash them, or remember I had them. So we stopped production.

As it happened, we were living in an old building at the bottom of a steep hill, which was divided into four apartments. Our fellow tenants were two old ladies with a cat and a dog, respectively, and the aforementioned graduate student and his family. The ladies felt that the young men should do all the heavy chores, taking to garbage up the hill, shoveling snow, etc. The men felt that the age of chivalry was over and that the ladies should hire someone to do the scutwork at least occasionally.

Now I have set the scene. well, not completely, because I forgot to mention that there was a capacious attic in which we stored things we were not using, including a case of the beer. Occasionally, we would hear the faraway sound of one of the bottles blowing up--but it was very far away. Perhaps it was a mouse, or the wind? Or just the house settling? We did not inquire.

After a couple of years we moved on, and moved away. We seriously planned to get rid of the beer, but one of the ladies made a cutting remark about the beer, and we got mad. We left it there.

I liked to think of the old ladies lying in bed and hearing the faraway explosion of the beer in the middle of the night. But the reality of the situation was that the college donated the building to the city, which turned it into a low income housing development. hrthe reamreality

Visit this site!

You won't be sorry!

I am not blogging as frequently because...

blogger has become less user-friendly. I have an enormous collection of photographs in Picasa. It used to be super-easy to transfer photos to blogger; there was a button which said "blog this," you pressed it, and there it was. I've been using blogger for 7 years now and it was ever thus. However, the button has now disappeared. My daughter tells me to figure it out--it will stimulate my brain, according to her. But the last thing I want is stimulation of my brain. Thinking through problems is frustrating, vexing, and a waste of time. I have half-heartedly tried to go around this problem, but doing it the roundabout way is clumsy, kind of like rubbing your belly and patting your head at the same time. I thought this was a subtle inducement to using blogger+, but it isn't. Blogger+ is just a pointless new way to waste time on the Internet. Like Facebook and its peers.

Data mining

Why are we worried because the government is recording our phone calls, e-mails, and for all I know, bowel movements? The various governments in the nation don't know what to do with this data.

For example, a man hired to demolish a building in Philadelphia managed to kill 6 people in the process. A cursory background check of this person would have revealed numerous arrests, two jail sentences, and the fact that he was a pothead. Why this individual was hired to handle heavy equipment when there is 7.5 percent unemployment was not explained. Clearly, the government's methods of using the information it collects on individual American citizens needs tweaking.

Military ceremony

We had a military ceremony at Mr Charm's interment. I felt like a bit of a fraud when they gave me the flag, because he got more out of the army than they ever got out of him. He trained as a mountain climbing instructor, but was sent to Austria where he was company clerk and everyone was very nice to him, because he had control over who got furloughs and when. He also drank lots of beer and ate lots of cake topped with shlag (whipped cream), causing him to gain 40 lbs.

But the best thing he got out of the army was the GI Bill, which enabled him to go to college. It changed his life. He went to Brooklyn College, a very fine school which was free in those days, good going for a young man who dropped out of high school because he didn't want to read Silas Marner. No, that's not accurate--he refused to read Silas Marner.

Let's go easy on the IRS

People without a sense of humor are giving the IRS a hard time over a line-dancing video.

I applaud these jolly tax-masters for having a sense of humor. Do you know what librarians do when they have conventions? Powerpoint presentations, that's what! I'll take line dancing any day.

Miss Delaware's weird family

An article about the current Miss Delaware in the local paper is making me crazy.

A paragraph about how pretty she is includes the following statement: (her two twin sisters – one identical, one fraternal – are knockouts as well).

How can she have two twin sisters, one identical, one fraternal? Is she a triplet?

You can't say no to this offer

I am continually getting offers from "financial planners" who want to "educate" me in how to save and invest my money. This is quite a common way for financial planners to troll for new customers. Usually they bribe you to attend by offering a free meal. The one I got today was a little different. Of course it was from a self-seeking "investment counselor," but this was under another guise. The offer was sent by the University of Delaware, and advertised as a "course" given through the university, at the university campus. Instead of getting a free meal, the university required a tuition payment of $39.

When I was a library director these financial gurus were always after us to let them offer a seminar in our library. I always refused because it was all about a hidden agenda, and I didn't want the library to be used for profit. Not that I am against making money--I'm all for it. But the library is a tax-supported institution and should not be recommending an investment scheme under the pretense of educating the public.

Why is the University of Delaware pimping for some financial advisor? Are they that hard up?

Festive

In December, I decided to get a pedicure from my bespoke pedicurist, Mr Tran. Mr Tran used to have a special way of doing Mr Charm's pedicure. He would roll the chair out to the car and help Mr Charm out of the car. The pedicurist used to josh with him, asking what color polish he wanted and sometimes getting a smile for her pains. She also washed his feet and lower legs, put lotion on his skin, and massaged him. When we were ready to leave, Mr Tran would help him into the car.

I continued to go there after Mr C had moved to a nursing home. Wouldn't you? He knew our whole family and asked about them. The pedicure and manicure were the same as offered everyplace else, but the service made us feel loyal.

So, back to December. I chose a color for my toenails, a shell pink. Mr Tran countermanded my choice. "No, no! Not festive enough for holiday season!" He chose a bright red, and I went along with it and achieved festive feet.

It was April when I came back, just for a manicure. "Manicure and pedicure?" asked Mr Tran. No, just a manicure. "Get manicure and pedicure," he insisted. So I did.

Jihadi mom

The Boston Bombers' mom clearly needed Dr Kermit Gosnell's services a couple of decades ago. It would have saved everybody a world of trouble.

Getting old(er)

Years ago, when my grandson was in elementary school, I would occasionally drive him and a few of his buddies to a movie or baseball practice. They were a noisy and unruly bunch, and the topic that amused them most was, er, digestive problems. Mostly farting, but they also enjoyed talking about belching, vomiting, and diarrhea--or anything else that was gross. Twenty years later, and this mindset has taken over the film industry. I just watched the movie Bridesmaids. Vomiting, diarrhea? You want it, you got it.

Poem by Shakespeare

Fear No More the Heat o' the Sun

Fear no more the heat o' the sun,

Nor the furious winter's rages;

Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:

Golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' the great;

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;

Care no more to clothe and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak:

T

he Sceptre, Learning, Physic, must

All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning-flash,

Nor the'all-dreaded thunder-stone;

Fear not slander, censure rash;

Thou hast finished joy and moan:

All lovers young, all lovers must

Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorciser harm thee!

Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

Nothing ill come near thee!

Quiet consummation have,

And renownèd by thy grave!

William Shakespeare

The kiss of the vampire Obama

Well, folks, Obamacare just gave me a big wet smacker in the form of a massive increase--$60 per month--to my health insurance. Thanks ever so. In related government news, Social Security wasted a stamp telling me to apply online for a death benefit, but when I got on their website they informed me that you could not apply online. So why are people so down on the Postal Service? It does what it is expected to do. I write a letter, put a stamp on it, and mail it. The recipient receives it. They don't charge $500 for a stamp, either. Not even when you are a republican.

Tragic

National Poetry Month

I found myself thinking of this poem today, as the weather was so lovely.  I wanted to go somewhere to savor the day.  Instead I went to Macy's.

Anyway, it is National Poetry Month.

 

THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US; LATE AND SOON

          THE world is too much with us; late and soon,
          Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
          Little we see in Nature that is ours;
          We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
          The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
          The winds that will be howling at all hours,
          And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
          For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
          It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
          A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;                         10
          So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
          Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
          Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
          Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
                 

Serious

There's no amusing way to say this:  The man I called Mr Charm  died a week ago, so the world no longer has his smile or his hearty laugh.  His long, brutal illness took everything away, and then took him. 

Truly important

Someone left a message on Facebook that she is really enjoying Downton Abbey.  Really and truly?   This is confirmation that the Internet rots the brain.  And yet I recently subscribed to tumblr, so that intimate friends can inform me over facebook, twitter (which scares me, it's too difficult), google + and my e-mail that they have a hangnail.  I can't read my favorite bloggers, because they have stopped posting to their blogs and use twitter mostly, which @#I don't understand, mainly because I don't feel like wasting my time trying to master it.

Blogger is starting to be frustrating to me too.  I used to think I had it mastered, but they have improved it to the point that I can't do anything with it, like post photos.  Ah, the dear old days!

I only know how to do three things on the computer:  1) backup and restore; 2)control, alt, delete 3) answer e-mail.  That exhausts my little bag of tricks.

Reading biography

I ran out of mysteries to read, so decided to improve my mind by reading one of Mr Charm's biographies, a book about the Duke of Wellington by Christopher Hibbert and well worth reading.  He was an authentic hero, who defeated Napoleon and cared not  a rap what anyone thought of him.  He had a chest full of medals and was beloved by the ladies.

Like Ulysses Grant, who had been a quartermaster, Wellington understood the importance of supplying his armies, above all with food.  Send enough bullocks and sheep, and your army will be assured of victory. It sounds very quotidian, but it worked for him.

The citizenry loves military heroes, especially handsome ones. He went from triumph to triumph, including serving as Prime Minister.

The only unsatisfactory thing in his life was his marriage.  He had proposed to a woman when he was a young man and unable to provide for a family, and she refused him.  When he achieved success, he felt honor bound to renew his proposal, though he no longer cared for her, and she, who also had doubts, felt honor bound to accept.  So, despite the misgivings of both, they were married and lived together uneasily ever after.  He avoided her company whenever possible, and she was obsequious and timid, which made him him more impatient with her.

They were totally unsuited to each other.  He was the first man ever to say, for the record, that his wife did not understand him, although doubtless not the first to feel that way.  But as she lay dying, he was at her side.

Fighting climate change

My local newspaper features almost daily articles on the front page about climate change or global warming, with a generous side helping of beach erosion.  So, in order to limit my personal contribution to these  momentous issues, I have decided to cut back my carbon footprint by canceling my subscription.

Goodbye Facebook, Goodbye Twitter

I haven't posted anything on Facebook for months and am unlikely to.  My life, while it interests me, is both stressful and boring. s for Twitter, I can't even figure out where to start.  What are all those symbols and what do they mean?  Suppose I did it wrong?  I would feel like an un-with-it klutz, which I am, but why flaunt it?  I will still blog when I feel the urge, if I ever climb out of the ditch I'm in.

But the real reason I want to steer clear of these activities is that they are a terrible time-suck.  I can almost hear the remaining hours of my life circling the drain, while I ponder the mot juste.  So until someone figures out how to stretch 24 hours into 28 or 30, I think I'll abstain from social media.

Apology to Tim Geithner

I totally take back all the mean things I said about your tax problems with TurboTax.  I used a different online tax program & it was horrible.  I had to print out the forms and  fill them in  manually to figure out what went where.  I'm still not sure I got it right.  They are still sending me "Pay or Die" letters about my 2010 return, which I filed two years ago.

There's nothing more to say except I'm sorry.

How are the taxes in the Cayman Islands?

scammed!

So I received a phone call from someone with a heavy almost undecipherable Indian accent about my internet problems.  Calling herself Cindy, she said she was something to do with Windows, or Microsoft.  Whatever she said was unintelligible but sounded important.  The accent lent plausibility to her claim.  What phony would try to swindle someone without being intelligible?

It was a scam, but luckily my daughter arrived and got on the phone and scared them off.  So no harm was done, except to my faith in human nature.  Dishonest people with Indian accents--who knew?  I thought all people with heavy Indian accents were IT specialists, or at the very least, doctors.

Tough times at the U of Texas

The University of Texas is facing steep budget cuts.  To hear the administration tell it, if the university gets one penny less than they received last year, essential research will be sacrificed and the University will lose its first class status.  Important projects vital to the welfare of the nation will be lost,  catastrophe will no doubt follow and the research necessary to invent radar will not take place and we will probably lose World War II and the cold war--oh wait, we already won those didn't we?  Well, anyway, something disastrous will happen.

The more likely scenario is that one or two assistant associate deans of diversity won't receive cost of living raises and the official who plans and coordinates University Sex Week will have his/her travel budget cut.  Administrators now out-number faculty in most colleges; the tail is busily wagging the dog.

I remember when Mr Charm worked for the State of New York budget cuts were in the offing.  Our whole way of life was threatened.  Heads would roll, people would lose their jobs, the staff would not be able to purchase paper clips and its vital functions would be endangered.  A black cloud hung over the people of the State of New York.

In the event, two part-time charwomen were laid off and everybody lived happily ever after.  Except for the two charwomen, of course.