Delaware oil trains a menace

Remind me  why the government did not approve the Keystone Pipeline.

How do the Baltimore rioters differ from a lynch mob?

They don't.  Alan Dershowitz explains what's going on.

Oh dear.

When he finds his car, maybe my new glasses will be in it.

Thanks for the heads up

I knew some of my relatives were crazy.  This confirms it.

Poem by Robert Frost

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

This time of year always makes me think of this poem.

Used books

Can money be made selling used books?  You bet.

And who buys them?  I do.  I usually find something to read at the Good Will.  Among my recent finds: "The Piano Shop on the Left Bank," by Thad Carhart, full of interesting music about pianos, pianists, piano tuners, and music generally;  "The Devil to Play,"  by Jasper Rees, about playing the horn, with lots of gossip about music, musicians--Mozart in particularly--and everything else you might want to know about the horn.  I never would have looked for these books anywhere else because I didn't know they existed.

I bought a paperback copy of "An Officer and a Spy" by Robert Harris, which  only came out in January of this year, but found its way to the Good Will.  It's a well-researched re-creation of the Dreyfus Affair.   Harris, author of "Imperium" and "Conspirata," never disappoints.

Also "Dear Family," by Camilla Bittle-- an unpretentious, sympathetic portrait of the ordeals lived through by members of an ordinary family.---not a masterpiece for the ages, but if you want to know what families endured  in the Depression,you will find out here.  It's a nice change from the razzle dazzle pretentious fiction turned out nowadays.  Magical realism and all that rot.

Also, deTocqueville, "Treasure Island" by Robert Louis Stevenson, a collection of maps of ancient history, and more.

If I am in search of something published and forgotten long ago, I go to abebooks.com.  Amazon also has many forgotten but readable books, many in Kindle form. 

Many of the books I buy are not very good, and I read a little of them and then cast them aside.  They go back to the Good Will, or to the AAUW book sale, or to my daughter's college book sale.

 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

 

I actually wandered, not lonely as a cloud, but pushing a stroller with my oldest baby in it, in the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.  These were the first flowers I had seen all year, and my feelings were much the same as Wordsworth's.  So this poem has a special meaning for me.

A poem in honor of Abraham Lilncoln, assasssinated April 15, 1865

O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills; For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Here captain! dear father!

This arm beneath your head;

It is some dream that on the deck,

You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!

But I, with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

Walt Whitman

Twentieth century memories: our first car

We were living in Brooklyn near the subway and were poor as church mice.  In fact, church mice could have taken our seminar in how to be poor.  We were so poor that my mother sent us a Kosher salami from Columbus, Ohio.  And we ate it. So it seemed like a great idea to get a car. 

Mr Charm wanted to drive to Coney Island and eat at Nathans.  He also wanted to drive up to the Shawan gunk (pronounced Shongun)  mountains and practice his mountain climbing.  There was nothing for it but to buy a car, so we could get out and smell some fresh mountain air, or sea air, as the case might be.

Mr Charm found himself a used car guy called Meyer the Buyer and bought the best car you could get for $75--or maybe it was $250.  He paid Meyer part of his fellowship check and arranged to pick up the car.  He was going to bring it home to Brooklyn and we were going to go somewhere in it.  I arranged for a friend to babysit and got dressed up nice and waited.  And waited.

You younger people--which is everybody, because I'm older than everybody--you don't know what it was like back in the 20th century.  American cars were horrible, and there was nothing else.  The Japanese were just getting into the American market.  So the car Mr Charm bought was a horrible used car, worse than any horrible new car then on the market.  But they were all lousy. 

Meyer the Buyer was in Manhattan someplace on the West Side, so Mr Charm had to come down the old West Side Highway, where the car broke down almost immediately.  .  At the time you did not dare leave your disabled vehicle on the West Side Highway while you went off looking for help, because thieves prowled the highway and would steal all the salable parts from the car.  Like tires.  Stuff like that.  So he sat with the car for hours.

I don't remember how he ever got home that day, but Meyer was intractable and we were stuck with the car.  Where we lived, there was alternative side of the street parking on Tuesday and Thursday from 10 to 12 a.m,, so every Tuesday and Thursday we had to move the car.  Sometimes it started; other times it didn't, and we had to pay someone to tow it to the other side of the street.

But we did drive to the mountains, and we went to Coney Island and had hot dogs.  We had a good time, too, although Mr Charm had to keep a case of motor oil in the trunk of the car, and occasionally had to pull over and give the car a couple of quarts of motor oil.

Go ahead, have another piece of pie

Lose your waistline instead of your mind.

Dreary domestic tales

My dishwasher is broken, not in the sense that it does not perform, but in the sense that it no longer has the ability to get dishes clean.  Since I am not planning to get a new one immediately, it has become necessary to wash dishes thoroughly by hand if I want to eat off of clean dishes, which I do.  After hand-washing them, I put  them in the dishwasher for a nice swim.  They don't come out any cleaner, but no dirtier either.

I also have ants.  I have put ant traps everywhere.  I managed to eliminate them from the stove, but then found them climbing into the refrigerator, so I sprayed them with dangerous ant killer.  This ant killer is not recommended in any place where food is prepared, but unfortunately the ants prefer to be around food. So I spray them and then thoroughly clean the places I have sprayed, thus saving my life, I hope.

They abandoned the refrigerator at last.  I thought I had them on the run, but found they had moved their activities to the microwave, which I then sprayed.  Next was the dishwasher.  I loaded it with poison, then ran it twice to eliminate the poison.  All was quiet when I went to bed.  This morning, when I went to make coffee, I discovered them cavorting in the sink.

I'm warning all my friends:  if my dead body is discovered, covered with crawling ants, you will know who won this war.

Another poem also Irish

The scholar and his cat, Pangur Bán

(from the Irish by Robin Flower)
I and Pangur Ban my cat,
'Tis a like task we are at:
Hunting mice is his delight,
Hunting words I sit all night.
Better far than praise of men
'Tis to sit with book and pen;
Pangur bears me no ill-will,
He too plies his simple skill.
'Tis a merry task to see
At our tasks how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind.
Oftentimes a mouse will stray
In the hero Pangur's way;
Oftentimes my keen thought set
Takes a meaning in its net.
'Gainst the wall he sets his eye
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
'Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.
When a mouse darts from its den,
O how glad is Pangur then!
O what gladness do I prove
When I solve the doubts I love!
So in peace our task we ply,
Pangur Ban, my cat, and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine and he has his.
Practice every day has made
Pangur perfect in his trade;
I get wisdom day and night
Turning darkness into light.

Poem for poetry month

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

W. B. Yeats, 1865 - 1939

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping
     slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket
     sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

The Old City, Jerusalem

Passover in my day

When I was a child seders seemed to last for eons. All my mother's family, my parents, my two uncles and their wives and children were always present, because anything bubbe hosted was a command performance. The good linens, china, and silver made the table gleam under the light of bubbe's two candelabras.

We children were excited beyond hysteria until the ceremony began, and we were forced to come to the table and stop hanging upside down from the sofa, climbing the walls, and knocking down the furniture. I particularly enjoyed the presence of my cousins because I was an only child at the time, and lonely. My eldest cousin, three and a half years older than me, was a goddess of sophistication to me; her brothers were rowdy playmates. Uncle Doc's little girls were too young to play with but they were mighty cute and dressed to the nines.

Once the youngest child present had recited the four questions the prayer competition began. Both my uncles and my cousin Bernie read the haggadah aloud --individually--in Hebrew as quickly as they could. The conversation went like this:

Uncle I: It's time for the first (or second, third, or fourth) cup of wine.
Uncle II: I haven't gotten there yet. You read too fast.
Uncle I: It's a long service.
Uncle II: All right, all right. Come on everybody. Drink the fourth (or third, or second) cup. Where's the bottle? Pass me the wine, somebody.

They raced through the prayers and then had to stop and wait impatiently for the others to catch up. It was rather like riding in a car that alternately speeded up and stopped dead, causing you to lurch forward and back.

Meanwhile, my cousin Sam and sometimes one or two of the other children would drink too much wine and slip quietly to the floor. It taught me the meaning of drinking yourself under the table. After a brief nap the culprit would re-appear, refreshed.

The two little girls were too small to read, so they raced around the table fighting with each other until Uncle Doc started yelling at them and threatening to spank them. My aunt, his wife, would burst into tears because he had shouted at the girls. She would threaten to leave. They would yell some more until he calmed down and apologized to the girls and gave them some candy or gum he just happened to have in his pocket. The girls, of course, would stuff themselves with sweets and would not eat the festive meal when it appeared.

The festive meal! Chicken soup with matzoh balls. We called bubbe's matzoh balls cannon balls. They were heavy but nourishing. Then we had chicken. With the chicken came potato kugel and chopped liver. Gefilte fish. Someone probably slipped a green vegetable in there somewhere, but I don't remember it. Bubbe didn't hold with all this greenery anyway. Her idea of a salad was: take one cucumber; add pint of sour cream; eat. And we couldn't have that, this was a fleisheke meal.

Bubbe would heap each of the children's plates with massive portions of food and then bawl them out for not eating it all. We were starved and ate voraciously. If someone had thrown one of us into the river we would have plummeted to the bottom and sunk without a trace.


Dessert featured, but was not limited to, Manischevitz macaroons, served in the can. The featured wine was Mogen David.

After eating, there was a timeout while the children searched for the afikomen and the adults sat still and burped.

Since I was not used to staying up late, the remainder of the seder was one big blur to me, except for opening the door for Eliyahu hanovi. Then came Chad Gadya, which meant the end of the service and blessed release.

And then we did it again the next night.

(Recycled)

The view from Masada

Back from Israel

The mountains skipped like rams, and the little hills like lambs.  So did the little old ladies of Jerusalem, fearlessly striding up and down the streets of Jerusalem with their shopping carts.  I could barely walk, and seriously thought I would die there.  On about the third day, I got better, and there was no stopping me.  Sort of.  My daughter, who is a hiker, strode ahead of me and kept stopping to let me catch up.  But still, I loved Israel.

After Israel, the sunshine here looks like a black and white picture.  Is it so much nearer the sun?

We were there two weeks, and would have stayed longer and seen more, but I was out of clean underwear and longing for an all night drugstore.

I am a terrible packer and know it; still, I never improve.  I pack summer clothes, and freeze when I arrive at my destination.  I forget pain relievers.  I can't find a pharmacy.  I can't find Tums anywhere.  Don't Israelis have stomach aches?  Especially with all the sweets they eat?

The food was wonderful: fresh vegetables, olives, pickles, hummus, halva, falafel, fish.   The meat, not so much.  But I could live on falafel.  And did.

The Arab traders:  "It doesn't cost anything to look!"  "You are my first customer of the day, you bring me luck!"  "I like you, that's why I give you a good price!"  But somehow it seems okay.  This is their shtick.

Incidentally, all Israelis DO NOT speak English, except when you don't want them to, as when taxi drivers ask whether you are going to vote for Clinton or Bush.  

I'm still a little hazy.  More later.  Maybe.

No snow here

Here's where I'm going.  Israel.  And I am hoping there will be no snow. 

Back March 30.

Three grandparents

When I was quite a small child I didn't know who everyone in the family was.  I thought I had three grandparents, courtesy of my mother:  Bubbe, Zayde, and Rosie.

Rosie was my grandmother's helper; what used to be called a"maid" or "girl" in polite society.  In short, Rosie was a black servant.  The fact that I have never mentioned  her astonishes me.  Must be racism.  Of course.

My memory tells me that Rosie was at my grandparents' house every day.  She and Bubbe were always working.  I can't believe the ordinary household required so much housework, but they always seemed to be busy doing something.  In those days, dishes were washed by hand.  And laundry was done on a machine with a wringer.  The wet wash --remember that expressions?==was wrung out by the wringer and then carried up the basement steps and hung on the clothesline.  When it dried it was brought inside, trundled down to the basement again, where most of it had to be ironed.  The only items that did not have to be ironed were   underwear, as I recalled.

And then there was kashrut, a form of organizing food and dishware and pots and pans which Rosie had not learned growing up in Savannah, GA.  She understood it very well by the time I knew her.   A novice could not work in a kosher environment; it was too complex.  The kosher housewife needed someone who understand how a kosher kitchen worked.  It governed almost everything that went on in the household where food was concerned.

On special occasions, known as Spring cleaning, carpets were taken out to the back yard and hung over the clothesline, where the dust was beaten out of them with a carpet beater.  The curtains were taken down and stretched on huge stretchers that looked like a bed of nails.  Everything was out of its proper place and children needed to disappear or be scolded for getting in the way.

I loved Rosie,  She was not too busy to tell me stories about growing up in Savannah, a place I always longed to visit.  I finally went there when I was in my 30's and loved it.   And she told me about her husband, who was named Blue, the only man I ever heard of with that name.  Rosie governed by threats.  Little girls who did not behave would be locked in dark closets.  And if we were not careful, we would get shot by needles which Uncle Moe carried in his doctor's bag.  I was so frightened of Uncle Moe, one of the gentlest of men, that I hid under the dining room table when he was expected.  No wonder I grew up to be crazy!

Some sage words for Congress and the President...

from Oliver Cromwell:

You have sat too long for any good you have been doing lately... Depart, I say; and let us have done with you. In the name of God, go!

Equal opportunity fleecing

Ruth Marcus appears to believe that legalized thievery by police and local government is something that only affects minorities.  She is oh so wrong.  They will steal from anyone regardless of race, color, or creed.

Her column is very informative and deserves to be read in full.  However, she appears to believe that it is more wrong to cheat and mistreat a poor person than a wealthy one.  Wrong again.  Justice is supposed to be blind.  It isn't okay, or more okay, to maltreat a rich citizen under color of law than a poor one.

Governments exist to serve us, not to ensure a revenue stream so that government employees can achieve respectable incomes, good health care,  and adequate pensions.  The police are employed to keep the peace and defend citizens from malefactors, and this is what I believe they do, for the most part.

We need to be sensitive to the abuse of power by elected and non-elected government employees.   It is one of the flaws in our system and leads to disrespect for the lawful authorities and widespread corruption.

I won't be supporting Jeb Bush

He seems like a nice enough guy, as was his father, as was his brother.

A lot of what he says makes sense, but when he gets on the topic of "11 million immigrants" for whom there are "no plans,"  I get up and leave the room.

A politician is someone, who when he sees something, anything, for which there are "no plans,"  feels the need to run up a plan on his handy-dandy Singer sewing machine.  If he sees a chicken crossing the road, he has to come up with a plan to either help the chicken  cross the road or prevent it from doing so.  Or to bring it back safely.  Chickens, undocumented immigrants, the principle is the same.  Do something..  Pass a law.  Create an agency, with its own headquarters building, an executive director with an assistant director -and two administrative assistants and a gardener.  Anything but leave the chicken to make his own plans.

We don't have to make laws for these undocumented folks now on our shores.  They will either stay, leave, or die. The idea is to prevent any more from coming in and deport the ones behaving criminally.  Time will take care of the rest.

Anti-Semitism on campus

This is all you need to know about the topic.

Are American Jews welcome on college campuses?  Yes, if they are self-hating Jews.

Kissing up to Delaware Muslims

Evoking memories of racist Southern sheriffs hunting black people with vicious, snarling dogs and fire hoses,  Governor Markell has met with local Muslims to deliver this message:  "We love and respect you, and please forgive any future incidents in which we might be mean to you, act violent, or hurt your feelings.  We apologize in advance, just  in case."

As far as I know, no-one is disturbing the Muslims of  Delaware.  So the Governor is pro-actively meeting with them, in case some future Delaware resident frowns at one of them or asks a Muslim why he/she is wearing something funny-looking on his or her head.

I have not read any news bulletins about Governor Markell meeting with Chinese American residents of Delaware, deeply regretting the absence of chopsticks in local eating places and assuring them that we all know they are patriotic even though they don't eat with knives and forks.

Why doesn't he find something constructive to do, like sorting his sock drawer, or solving crossword puzzles?

Bad ideas never die

A state Department Spokeslady has come up with an idea that is so old that it had whiskers on it during the Roosevelt Administration.. Every twenty or thirty years some bright young undergraduate hauls this out of the storeroom of discredited ideas, blows off the dust, and presents it as the solution for whatever ails society: terrorism, domestic violence, poverty, or lack of on-street parking.

Here it is, straight from the unicorn factory floor: “We cannot win this war by killing them. We cannot kill our way out of this war,” Harf said. “We need, in the longer term — medium and longer term — to go after the root cause..."

These fine young fellows need jobs!  Perhaps we can open up some new slaughterhouses--halal of course--to provide them with gainful employment.

Don't try this with the IRS...

unless you're Al Sharpton.

I know people on the very edge of poverty who owe trivial amounts of money to the IRS.  The IRS makes their daily existence a living hell.

How come the Rev Al isn't running around looking over his shoulder in fear of the tax man?  Could it be because of his friendship with Barry the gum-chewing President?

This new Pope...

I'm not a Catholic, but  there is only one pope, and he is kind of public property.  I take a proprietary interest in the holder of the title.   I have misgivings about  this new pope.  Where in the world did he go to Pope school?  I mean these fellows, like them or not, are supposed to be serious, scholarly chaps, no?  Ahead of their classmates?  Noted for erudition, wisdom, and getting along with the other kids?

So what's the new incumbent doing, sounding off about people "breeding like rabbits"?  For some reason, this offends me.  I only have two children, so I'm not guilty of over-populating the world, but what if I were?  Just as some people's terrorists can be other people's freedom fighters, some people's over-productive  rabbits might be other people's Easter bunnies.  And didn't I read somewhere that God believes we humans should be fruitful and multiply?

Just which of the Buckley clan, brothers and sisters of the famed William F, would the Pope consider unnecessary to human happiness?  How about the Kennedys?  Are there any of them the Pope could do without?

Maybe the Pope needs a public relations consultant.  Or some duct tape.

Our new best friends, the Taliban, are not terrorists...

Oh heavens no.  So what do you call it when they murder three Americans?  A friendly dispute?  A hissy fit?  Agreeing to disagree?

Boris Johnson explains terrorists' motive

It's all about sex.  It's as good an explanation as any.

An offensive e-mail leads to lawsuit

Whatever ever happened to freedom of speech?

This could be from an Alec Guinness movie

Little old lady with bobbies

Fidel Castro does not trust the United States

Well, fancy that!

Some stupid ideas, beloved among the American people

Chicken Little & Friends--also known as the Mainstream Media--are terribly worried about anti-Muslim backlash.

It used to be that the media would at least wait a day before sweeping the latest victims of Muslim terrorism into the trash to refocus on the looming “anti-Muslim backlash” that never actually comes.
The increase in Muslim terrorism however has made it risky for the media to wait that long. 24 hours after a brutal Muslim terrorist attack, there might be another brutal Muslim terrorist attack which will completely crowd out the stories of Muslims worrying about the backlash to the latest Muslim atrocity.

Some bad ideas just will not die but are beloved by the American people.  Here's a partial list:

The idea that Che Guevara is glamorous and heroic; part B of this idea is the notion that Fidel Castro is a hero, despite his 30 some years of unrelieved thuggery.

The idea that unnamed and unidentified people are putting razor blades and poison in Halloween candy.

The totally unsupported notion that Obama is intelligent.   I am not privy to conspiracy theories about his birth.  O was born in the USA, all right.  Thousands, if not millions of stupid people are born in the US, including him.

The idea that Islam is a religion of peace; the corollary, that if we just show these villains and murderers love and understanding, they will like us and treat us right.

The idea that religious creeds are not susceptible to political pressure.  Tell that to the Mormons, who found it prudent to abandon their beliefs in multiple marriage after these were proved not to play in Peoria.

Meanwhile, can we abandon the notion that Islam is a religion of peace?  These people have been getting on our nerves since the Presidency of Thomas Jefferson.  Remember the shores of Tripoli?  We took care of them then, now lets roll up our sleeves and teach them a badly needed lesson.

If you have tears,

prepare to shed them now.

Celebrate Andrew Jackson!

An American victory!

Pollce "strike"

Police prefer the low-hanging fruit.  Examples:  You and me.  It's only rational for cops to arrest old ladies who won't give them any lip for speeding on an otherwise empty highway; it's a whole lot safer for them.  Trying to intervene in a crime being committed by a young strong black man is likely to get someone hurt.

 I will concede that the murder of two innocent patrolmen was a heinous crime.  I will further admit that the grand juries in both Ferguson and New York did their duty as specified by law, and that Al Sharpton et al are a disgrace to the good name of rabble-rousers who have brought a lot of grief to the body politic.

So the police in New York City are withholding their services.  They are not "on strike" because striking is illegal.  They are showing up for work but not doing anything.  They will be out there, neglecting their duties.  So, you will no longer have your car towed if you stay overtime in a parking spot--bliss!

There is a downside to this, though.  New York will become like San Francisco, a place where the homeless use public fountains as toilets, panhandle aggressively, and menace harmless pedestrians with their threatening demeanor.  The squeegee men will be back, offering their unwanted attentions to motorists.  This will return the quality of life to the pre-Giulani area, while the New York Times laments the ungovernablity of the city and demands smaller classroom and higher pay for teachers in order to attack the "root causes" of crime. Tourists will flee and businesses will struggle.

I think we need to rethink what we want from policing. Are the police a source of revenue, like bingo games in church meeting rooms?  Or are they employed to protect the public?

Happy New Year!

Chanukah song

Now that Chanukah is on its last gasp, can I mention that the Dreidel song is the most uninspired and boring song ever foisted on a religion.  No wonder there are so few of us, if that's the best we can do!

The dreidel game, on the other hand, is some kind of Jewish Candyland.  Not worthy of us, my brothers.

Lucky ape

This ape has more rights than you do.  For instance, it doesn't have to pay taxes. Or buy health insurance.

A cute little Xmas picture

Our new best friends

Not only are we kissing up to Iran, now we are making overtures to the Castro regime.  I can't believe I'm in the same country I was born in.

 Here in the US, if someone expresses mild doubt about the feasibility of gay marriage, his life is made miserable and we try to ruin his business.  However, in Cuba, gays are languishing in prisons camp, and apparently this is okay, because no enemies on the left.

In Iran, they murder young men for being gay, but that's okay because Muslims have a different culture and we can't judge them by our standards.

IRS funding cut

I wish I could believe that this cut in funding would affect the higher-ups in the IRS, especially those who tromp on the faces of ordinary people.  But my experience of local and state government leads me to be cynical.

When my husband worked for the New York State Education Department, there was a big austerity campaign--draconian cuts were going to be made.  People feared for their jobs. In the event, they cut out two positions--for part-time charwomen.

Everyone who worked there knew there were high level employees who never did a lick of work.  Their jobs were spared, and they continued to do nothing--with annual cost-of-living raises-- until they retired on comfortable pensions.  By the way, they contributed nothing toward funding their pensions.  These were 100 percent funded by the State.  Nice work if you can get it.

No wonder everyone wants a civil service job.

I'd like to put in a word of recommendation for the novels of Gerald Petievich which deal with the Secret Service, but only incidentally with lazy and free-loading employees.

My aunts and yours

Readers of my book, "Nothing Much," have written me extensively about their aunts.  It seems my readers  have as many aunts as I do, maybe more, and these aunts have loomed large in their lives. The aunts in question are devoted to bridge (or canasta, or mah jong)and would walk over burning coals in their bare feet rather than miss their weekly game(s). They also wore large, imposing hats and loved to get together to gossip or dish the dirt.  But did any of these ladies plan to bring a card table and four chairs to the cemetery, to their mother's grave, in fact, so they could keep the old lady company while playing a comfortable game of bridge?  I didn't think so.

Tales of a locksmith

I finally got a locksmith to come to my house--and what a locksmith!  One of nature's  noblemen, when he arrived he informed me that my outside tap needed to be shut down.  He then shut it down, coiled up the hose, and deposited it in the basement.  Then he shut off the inside faucet or whatever you call the doohinky that if it freezes your pipes would burst.  This was before he had done any locksmithing at all.

I have zero sales resistance, so he managed to sell me five (5) locksets  for all my exterior doors.   They cost a lot.

He went out to his truck to get his invoices and business cards.  Meanwhile, I cut my finger trying to cut some limes in half.  I managed to drip a fair number of drops of blood on the floor in the kitchen and bathroom before the locksmith put a BandAid on my finger.

Wait--there's more, as the television pitchmen  say.  I had heated some chicken morsels in the oven and managed to eat one while he was out in the truck and nearly choked to death.   This invaluable tradesman pounded me on the back until I had disgorged the remnants of chicken, thus saving my life.

Then he took some wipes and wiped up the droplets of blood from the floor.  Did a good job, too.  Now that's what I call locksmithing!

Plum job

When I was young, I would apply for any job that didn't require math, and quite a few that did.  Editor, garment model, newsreader, office manager, I figured out I could learn the required skills in two weeks.  (Except math.)  Besides, they sounded interesting.  Who wouldn't want a job as a fitting model in the garment industry?  Or the Napoleon of a large law office, striking fear into the hearts of all the underlings and lunching with  rich lawyers?  All the jobs sounded interesting to a 20 year old with no paarticular aim in life.  Amazingly, I had multiple interviews.

Being a shy person, it was agony for me at first to go through these interviews.  But I had so many of them that I became inured to the process, and my attitude was "bring it on!" although people didn't say that in those days.  I got quite adept at presenting myself and modestly mentioning my many accomplishments, which mostly consisted of having a BA in English literature at the time.

But at last I have seen an ad for the job of my dreams: wardrobe, makeup and costume construction  for a theatrical company.   I'd be perfect for the job. As it happens, I can sew.  I made all my daughters' dresses when they were little.  A short visit to Sephora or Ulta would bring me up to date on makeup.  Unfortunately, it's in San Francisco, and the rents there are too high.  I'll just have to remain satisfied with unassuming, humble Delaware.

A new game

Invented in Spain,this game could easily be adapted to other settings.  Like:  New Jersey. Maryland, Illinois, and California.  Only the faces would need to be changed.

My post about stealing soap from hotel rooms apparently struck a chord deep in the American soul.  It was my biggest hit!

Alma the It Girl

I am taking a course on Mahler, mostly his music, but two sessions are given to the notorious beauty Queen of Vienna.  It is impossible for us in the 21st century to understand her charisma.  Her photographs show her as a pretty girl, all right, although in her later years she looked more like Brunhilde.  I think Tom Lehrer said it best.

Remember, remember

Remember, remember!
    The fifth of November,
    The Gunpowder treason and plot;
    I know of no reason
    Why the Gunpowder treason
    Should ever be forgot!
    Guy Fawkes and his companions
    Did the scheme contrive,
    To blow the King and Parliament
    All up alive.

The first I  ever heard of Guy Fawkes Day was in the book, Mary Poppins, by P L Travers.  It sounded both scary and exciting.  I loved reading about children in another country with exotic habits, like eating scones. .  I hope it still is celebrated in the Mother Country.

How tough it is to be President!

A president's life is really tough--all those pesky voters!  According to the New York Times

The main impact of the midterm election in the modern era has been to weaken the president, the only government official (other than the powerless vice president) elected by the entire nation.

However, he does have the White House cook and rides around in Air Force One.

The trouble with in-laws

Bubbe, my grandmother, did not approve of the women her sons married; she did not consider them good  enough for her family. Clearly, nobody could be.   But her daughter's husband, my father, was her special nemesis.

He had a lot of charm, but it was lost on her.  They loathed each other from the getgo.  When he tried to mollify her, she was not playing, and their mutual hatred grew worse.

Mother always felt that you could please two people at once, even if they wanted completely opposed actions on her part.  This worked about as well as you would imagine it would, which is not at all.

After my grandfather died, it was generally agreed that someone would have to move in with bubbe.  The whole family felt that it should be my mother, her only daughter.  So the three of us moved in with her.

The result was a clash of wills, and since bubbe was twice as cunning as my father, she won the long game, thereby destroying our family and depriving her grandchildren of a father.  That was collateral damage, and didn't matter, as dad was obviously a weak character and we were better off without him.  Bubbe was as compassionate as Julius Caesar, who surrounded his enemies and starved them all.

The tradition continues: my nephew just got married, and his sisters hate his new wife and think she's not good enough for him.  Fortunately the young couple are moving out of the country, so perhaps their marriage has a chance.

Royalties!

I made 70 cents from my Amazon Kindle book.  I make more than that from my first book, published in 2002.

This is the front cover of "Nothing Much," a Kindle book.

We heard this tonight, but by Pyxis Quartet

Dynamite!

Me and Rasputin

About a year ago I fell right on my nose in the lobby of the Kimmel Center.  It hurt like hell, but. aside from two black eyes, I was essentially unharmed.  I looked grotesque, though.

Last Thursday, a dog knocked me down a (short) flight of stairs.  The sound of my head hitting the step was horrific.  Again, no damage, unless there are bruises  under my hair.

My father lived to be 99, and it took a dedicated team of doctors, at a renowned medical center, to kill him.

I am starting to feel like Rasputin; who I understand survived several attempts to kill him.  And that's all I know about Russian history, and probably all I ever will know.  

Nat Hentoff on Free Speech

First world problems

My broom has no home.  When I want to use it I take if from wherever it is standing, usually in the way, and after using it I leave it somewhere, usually in the way.  The somebody knocks it over.

Does anyone else have broom problems?  I never notice other people's brooms standing around waiting for someone to knock them over.  Other people have control of their brooms.

I have lost my last house key.  I never use them, because I come and go through the garage, but I think one should have a house key.  So I have to start thinking about a locksmith.

I let my husband's subscription to a magazine come to a close.  Then I ordered a new subscription  for myself.  Now I either have two subscriptions or none.  This requires action, but the thought of straightening it out makes me want to take a nap.

These are first world problems, right?  St Teresa said, in a quote that's too good to check, that life was a night spent in an uncomfortable inn.  Try to imagine a 16th century Spanish inn, where you had to share your bed with other travelers, some of whom probably smelled bad.  Now call a locksmith.

Happy Halloween

I hope it's not politically incorrect to call it that, instead of Autumn solstice or something;

Oil glut

My father and my brother the genius were so alike it scared me.  The first word ever applied to either one is "brilliant."  Both of them spent enormous amounts of effort on some cause.  My father spent four years trying to invent a sewing machine which would sew the toe of pantyhose invisibly.  He turned my brother's bedroom into a machine shop, surprising my brother when he came home from college  and had to sleep on a sofabed in the living room.  Dad had scores of patents on this machine, which proved difficult to design.  He became the world expert on pantyhose and was about to cash in worldwide when all the women of all  nations simultaneously decided they hated wearing pantyhose, discarded them, and started wearing trousers or going barelegged..  Even Anna Wintour.  And when you've lost Anna Wintour you've lost everyone who counts.

My brother the genius has a scheme for extracting energy from seawater.  Don't ask.  If he were rich he would devote all his time and resources to the project.  He also has lots of patents.  Needless to say, after the spectacular failure of wind and solar power nobody wants to listen.

When my mother was alive, he was convinced that all the natural gas in the world was going to be used up imminently, maybe within a year or two.  He actually ordered an oil burning furnace for her house.  When the installer came, the cleaning lady warned mother in time and was met with armed resistance and was forcefully ejected.  Thank heaven she caught him before the backhoe was applied to her rose garden.

It didn't take much acumen to consider him mistaken.  Just because someone is brilliant doesn't necessarily make him right.I felt in my gut that sooner or later,  there would be an oil glut and I was right.

Have a happy and healthy New Year

My future posts will all be about...

stealing soap from hotel rooms.  This is what brings people to my site.

It's all about the links!

Happy New Year

Bumper stickers

I strongly feel that any statement whatever is displayed on a bumper sticker or a t-shirt is rendered meaningless and banal by its context.  The medium is the message.

Think of the bumper stickers of the past.  My absolute favorite is "War is harmful to children and other living things,"  followed closely by "War is not the answer."  It depends on what the question is.  If the questions is, what is a three letter word for an armed conflict, war definitely IS the answer.

Also:  "No war for oil."  And "Obama," "Change," and "Hope.'

Being in Ohio

I just returned from Columbus, OH.  This is where I grew up.  I lived there for 16 years and couldn't wait to get out.  I'm sure Columbus is very nice, and I'm not comparing it to a soviet prison camp or anything.  I was adequately housed and fed and taken to the dentist and saw movies there.  I just wanted to go elsewhere.

So I went to visit the few relatives I have there who are still speaking to me.  Not that those who are not speaking to me are mad at me.  They are just indifferent to my existence, and vice versa.  No hard feelings on either side.  We can live without each other.   And do.

Looking for something to while away the hours when I wasn't visiting one cousin or another, I went to the stand in my motel which housed pamphlets about interesting sites to visit.  Mostly they were ads for outlet shopping centers.  A couple were for extremely boring historic sites, none of which were conveniently located.

I strongly felt the lack of all my aunts and uncles, my mother and grandmother.  I visited them in the cemetery, but couldn't get much out of them.  Communication was lacking.

Wow! People sure are interested in stealing soap

184 people have visited my post on the necessity or morality of stealing soap from hotel rooms!  A burning issue!

Is it okay to steal soap from hotel rooms?

Apparently, it is if you're British.

One of my relatives who travels extensively  has not bought soap in 20 years.  Apparently the complimentary soaps he takes from  hotel rooms fulfill the sanitary needs of his entire family.

Summer reading for young people

One of my young relatives was assigned this book for summer reading.

It tells the maudlin story of a young girl in the 1930's.  Not our happiest decade by a long shot, but this kid is doubly, no triply, unfortunate:  her mom died in childbirth, her dad is a drunk, and she accidentally pour kerosene on her hands, losing parts of her fingers--don't you hate when that happens?  Of course, this is particularly sad for her, as she is a talented pianist.  And to make matters worse, the book is written in blank verse, or free verse.  I can't tell the difference.  Here's a clue--it doesn't rhyme.

Young adult literature used to be clean and cheerful.  The kids went to the malt shop and attended sock hops at school.  They worried about being popular.  The trend in recent years is all the other way.  No subject is too gloomy to serve as the subject of a young adult book:  incest, rape, child abuse, gangs, poverty, criminality--all are the topics of young adult books these days.

I can't understand why kids have to read this drivel.  If you want to teach them about the seamy side of life, why not have them read "Crime and Punishment."?  There's all the poverty and crime you could wish for, and in addition it's a masterpiece.  Why is the Dust Bowl a fitting setting for teenagers rather than Raskolnikov's garret? 

Where's Teddy Roosevelt when you need him?

What the kidnapping and murder of James Foley means. Teddy's response to the kidnapping of an American was a bit different.

Retail therapy

Went shopping with a friend yesterday--she spent $72 and got six garments. That's a little more than 11 dollars per garment and she was happy and gratified. Clothing is so cheap nowadays. For instance, Macy's keeps sending me coupons worth $20 off a $50 purchase. With this coupon I get three or four nice things to wear from the 65 percent off rack. I already have closets filled with nice things to wear, but I can't hurt Macy's feelings, can I? I think they might be going out of business, anyway.

Why am I posting this? Who cares what I wear? Nobody, actually. But I have a point to make. Here are all these cheap clothes and next door are all these people buying large screen televisions at Best Buy. They are dressed like they purchased their clothes from a car wash, after the car wash had used them for a while. On their feet they wear cheap rubber flipflops. Ugh.

Why must everybody look so plebian? So proletarian? If they are broke, why are they buying enormous television sets? It's one of the mysteries of modern life. And why do they have such elaborately painted fingernails? Look at the people rioting in Ferguson, MO. Clearly they are desperately broke, but with nice fingernails. If you are going to riot in the streets and get your picture on the evening news, can't you even dress decently?

Stupid stuff, and plenty of it

I completely concur that "Don't do stupid stuff" is not a viable foreign policy. I hate these slogans that denigrate the intellect of the American public, don't you? Like, "It's the economy,stupid."--oh wait!

Seriously, I hate the lowdown argot of politicians nowadays. They seem to think they are in a pool hall, and not a nice one, either. Both parties are guilty. I personally don't like to be addressed or described as "folks," like some backwoodsman from Andrew Jackson's day. I don't care for the expression "shout out." I don't like to be told, "Read my lips." I'm sure you can think of others.

As for clothing,if I never see another President of the United States dressed in shorts, it will be too soon. Put on your big boy pants, guys! Big boy pants are those that descend to the ankle.

Museum fatigue

I suppose it was a bit of overkill to attempt to visit three museums in one day, but we did it. I loved the Berkshire Musseum in Pittsfield, which has improved immensely over the last three or four years. The second Museum was the Clark, in Willliamstown, which has undergone a rockemsockem renovation and is now a massive, unadorned, inhuman institution which would not have been out of place in Soviet downtown Moscow.

If you admire cinder blocks, this is the museum for you. In the public, non-gallery spaces, there is not a single painting or sculpture. A large shallow pool full of rocks adds an austere beauty, but fails to warm things up.

We did not have time to visit the permanent collection, but a collection of geometric shapes by David Smith was colorful and playful.

Paying kids to lose weight

Where can I sign up?

Classmates

I was recently informed by a website called classmates.com that someone I went to high school with had looked at my profile--how exciting that ought to be for me! Au contraire, I say, using one of the few bits of knowledge I learned at the damn place.

I was two years younger than my classmates in high school and thoroughly hated and feared all of them.

My parents were going through a rather nasty divorce at the time, and these kids, in typical "Lord of the Flies" manner sensed vulnerability in me and behaved accordingly.

Every day I attended school was a day of agony for me; when I was a senior I had nightmares in which my diploma was somehow denied and I had to stick around the horrible place for another year.

Academic standards were somewhat relaxed at the time, so despite the unpleasantness of the experience. I learned little and my parents would have made better use of my time if they had gotten me a job picking cotton or mining coal. I learned a bit of geometry and a smattering of French and that was all. Anything I learned while an inmate of the damn place I already knew or taught myself, except for the French and geometry.

What I did on my Summer vacation

The highlight of my visit to Lenox is always Tanglewood. Sometimes it's freezing, sometimes rainy, sometimes so sweaty you can see the perspiration on the performers. But when everything is right, Tanglewood is magic.

The soloist was Paul Lewis. To my eternal shame, I can't remember what he played--it was by Mozart, and Mozart numbered his compositions. I tried to look it up on the BSO website, but they are mute about past performances.

This was one of the most beautiful performances I have ever heard. I was transported. At Tanglewood, the performers are invisible except as tiny figures seen through glimpses through the audience. But for the last few years, they have very artfully videotaped the performances and display them on enormous screens to the seated audience. I don't know how those seated on the grass see anything--but who cares?

The weather was perfect, music rang out in the evening darkness, there was perhaps a little breeze. Magic!

It's about time somebody said this

Amazingly, it's someone from the Guardian.

I don't have to respect anyone's religion on principle any more than I have to respect people's politics if I find them bigoted. I will decide what I respect or not on the basis of whether that philosophy respects other people's rights, regardless of their colour or sex. In return, I don't want or need anyone to be bullied into respecting what I believe in. So long as they don't interfere with my right to believe in Him, they can call my God all the names under the sun. My faith is sufficiently strong that I won't run off to Headmaster Blair to tell the nasty mockers to stop it.

Someone should communicate these views to the cowardly president of Brandeis.

E-mail cut off

I have been away for a week, and Yahoo! has cut off my e-mail account for inactivity. Trying to get it back.

Highly unlikely

California might split into 6 states.

Yes, and I might win the Miss America competition in September. Both eventualities are remote.

Didn't we settle the question of how many states there are in 1865?

New painting

Heirs are hateful, and hated

Anyone who knows English history knows that kings of England hated their heirs and that the feeling was mutual. The heirs, of course, couldn't wait for the incumbent king to die so they could inherit his powers. It's a hell of a job sitting around waiting, with essentially nothing to do. Why should this country be any different?

Of course, Hillary and company loath Obama, especially since he more or less usurped the position she felt entitled to in 2108.

It's generally acknowledged that Whoopi Goldberg is racist

She's also stupid and untalented. Not too good-looking, either.

Her great success in life proves that the race is not always to the swift nor the battle to the strong. Wouldn't it be awful for mediocre (and worse) people like me if every successful American had succeeded because of his or her great talent, intelligence, or charm? What would that say about us?

He's fixed one poverty problem:

His own.

Editing

George Orwell searches for le mot juste.

H

Incorrect

Incorrect use of whomever in long, boring, incoherent, rambling sentence.

Bathroom humiliation

It's not what you think.

Deeply shallow

Obama thinks he was a humanities major, but he wasn't.

Political science, like history, is not, generally speaking, one of the humanities. Art history isn't either, but that's beside the point. Humanities include English, foreign languages, literature, etc. Muddled thinking like this is characteristic of Obama's utterances, which expose the shallowness of his ideas--glib but essentially meaningless. Obama appears to think that any field of study which is not STEM is "humanities"--or if it isn't it doesn't matter. It's close enough for government work.

The use of precise language is important to critical thinking. Critical thinking is essential to understanding what is being discussed. In other words, ideas have consequences, and muddled ideas have negative consequences. But what would Obama know about critical thinking?

My weekend car adventures

The reason I bought my first new car in a lifetime of used cars was to stop having adventures like this one. However, this tactic was not completely successful. It turns out I needed four (one was unofficial, so let's call it three)visits from AAA because the damn thing would start only intermittently. This is more frustrating than having a car that just plain won't start, because Hope keeps lifting its ugly head, as in politics. All this frustrating activity started over the weekend while the dealership was closed.

The last AAA guy came with a tow truck and dropped me and the car at the Nissan dealer. I went in and explained what was going on. The service manager looked at me, not with real courtesy and not with feigned courtesy but with total lack of interest and then suggested that maybe the battery in the key fob was not working properly and dumped me at the parts department.

The parts department guy replaced the battery in both of my key fobs. Cost: $6.00 each, for a total of $12.00.

And yes, that solved the problem, although I used up my annual three visits from AAA. On a rotten key fob.

Heartbreaking

Enemy bombs could not do more damage.

Urgent need

In one of P G Wodehouse's Mulliner stories, his nephew, a pale young curate (don't ask) who I believe is called Cyril, tries a tonic called Buck-U-Uppo, with astonishing results. Cyril faces down the bishop, rescues someone from a tree, and gets the girl he loves.

It turns out that Buck-U-Uppo is a nostrum for elephants, which makes them less reluctant to face tigers. Apparently many elephants, when faced with tigers, turn tail and run.

God bless P G Wodehouse, whose novels and stories made my adolescence bearable--but just barely--and brought joy to many readers, past and present.

But to return to the topic at hand, I am in urgent need of some Buck-U-Uppo, and I can't seem to get it through Amazon. Does anyone know of another source?

Bad news about blue jeans

What's all this carry-on about skinny jeans, designer jeans, Mom jeans, etc ad nauseum.

People with good-looking derrieres and nice long legs look good in jeans, whether they spend $200 or buy them at Ross Dress for Less for 12.98.

Everybody else: not so much.

A thought

In the confusion we stay with each other, happy to be together, speaking without uttering a single word. Walt Whitman

Experiment

I ran out of half and half for my coffee several months ago. I decided to replace it with light cream. Then I decided to replace it with heavy cream. I decided to eat all the eggs I wanted, and to use butter in cooking instead of something healthier. I also started using whole milk and whole milk yogurt. And lots of cheese. I cut back on refined carbs.

It was an experiment, using my body as a test tube. Are the experts right in their belief that a diet like this will kill you, or at least make you fat? Or are the new experts correct in asseerting that the culprit in our diet is unrefined carbs, and that fat is okay, if not good for you.

No-one else wanted to test my hypothesis, so I was a study consisting of one human being. A small sample, perhaps.

Today I had a routine appointment with my doctor. He reviewed my blood work with me, and told me the results were excellent, especially my cholesterol. Everything else was copacetic. I don't understand what half the stuff means: A1C, anyone? but whatever it was was good. However, I did not lose any weight on this diet. I didn't gain any either.

Good Will University

I'm getting all my reading material from Good Will. So far this year I've gotten "Reinventing Japan" by Ian Buruma, deTocqueville's "Democracy in America", "Benjamin Disraeli" by Adam Kirsch, "The Sea Wolf" by Jack London, a collection of Moliere's comedies, and a lot of books so forgettable I've already forgotten them. The usual sludge.

I love our library. It's hard to find a library that isn't better than nothing, and mine definitely is. But the downstairs near the entrance is given over to DVDs and children's books. The computer software which searches the holdings of all Delaware libraries is clumsy and hard to use. The adult books are upstairs in the back of the building, involving a bit of a hike. Also, nobody reads the shelves to see if any books are out of order, and plenty are.

But the Good Will is a win/win situation. I pay a dollar, sometimes two, per book, and when done pass them on to my daughter if she is interested. She ultimately sells them at her library's book sale.

The ones she doesn't want are donated to the AAUW annual book sale. I get an itemized receipt--usually a dollar per book-- to take off my income tax. Then somebody takes them home and reads them.

The method is perfect for a dabbler like me. I'm not necessarily looking for anything specific but am interested in anything not involving math or economics. I like history and there's a lot of history out there.

Conservatives are puzzled

I've been reading a lot of conservative comments about how inconsistent liberals are--poor dear but deluded conservatives. When you were a child, your dad promised to take you to the circus and reneged. It's not fair!

Fairness has nothing to do with it! Consistency has nothing to do with it, either. They are on the blue team, you are on the red team, and they can do exactly as they like. It's not about ideas; it's not about victims, or racism, or the War against Women. It's about winning! When you are on the blue team, it's okay to do or say anything at all, as long as you can gouge your enemies' eyes out. It's about winning, first, last and foremost.

Doesn't Harry Reid remind you of some creepy, dried-up character from Victorian fiction? Trollope, Dickens, George Eliot, I know I've met him before. Or maybe someone from Gogol?

My dad and his invention

In all this family stuff I notice I haven't said much about my dad. He was a man who it is not easy to ignore. He wouldn't let you.

He was not a screamer, like the Belarus side of my family. His family was from Hungary, but he was born in Youngstown, OH. He was the last of four children; he was premature and the doctors told his mother that he was not likely to live, but he did, for 99 years and a bit, until sent to his death by someone in the hospital who did not wash their hands.

Dad started his professional life as a newspaper man. When he married my mother, he qualified for the bar exam by working in her law office. He did not attend law school. Actually, he never exactly finished college at the University of Wisconsin either. I don't think he even got his high school diploma, having cut gym for four years at his high school in Peoria, IL. But he could talk his way into, or out of, almost anything, including jobs and marriages.

He was good with his hands and had an intuitive grasp of how things worked. When he opened the hood of a car, he understood what he was looking at and what needed to be done. He could fix small things around the house, like faucets and light switches, and built simple furniture, like bookcases.Dad noticed that the toe seam of women's stockings was crude and lumpy and showed in open toed shoes, so he set about inventing a sewing machine that would sew an invisible seam at the toe of a stocking. A whole room of his house was dedicated to the project. Actually, when his son left for college, his bedroom was converted to a workshop. He worked on it obsessively. He would drive 50 miles to visit me, stay for a few minutes, and then leave to work on his invention. This went on for years.

He finally figured it out and was about to succeed in patenting the device, when the world of fashion changed completely. Elegance and style disappeared, and women stopped wearing hosiery altogether. Except maybe socks.

Remind me to tell you about his career(s) in plant management, writing, and painting some time.

More car news

General Motors recalled more cars than it sold last year.

Res ipsa loquitor?

Running out of room to park new cars

These are not the cars you and I are buying and looking for a place to park:

Cars are being manufactured and left unsold all over the world.

Why don't they stop making them if no-one wants to (or can afford) to buy them? It defies logic.

Read the whole article.

No wonder the Nissan dealers keep calling me!

A beautiful book

Benjamin Disraeli by Adam Kirsch is a lovely book which I picked up at the Good Will, my favorite venue for quality books. It's the right size, fitting nicely into the hand, has beautiful acid-free paper, a nice typeface, esthetically pleasing text to margin ratio, and a nice dust jacket mad of high quality paper.

It's also fun to read, if you are interested in Disraeli, which perhaps not everyone is. The emphasis here is on how Judaism affected his life, mostly in indirect ways. I can see why it will not soon make the best seller list, but is worth reading if you are interested in English history. The man himself was brilliant, witty, and ambitious. But above all, he was persistent.

He stood for Parliament four times before succeeding in winning a seat--and and a good thing, too; he barely escaped being imprisoned for debt. (Members of Parliament cannot be imprisoned, except for heinous crimes, like treason.)

He subsequently married a rich widow. In those days, marrying for money was quite acceptable in polite society, and he made no bones about it. The marriage was a successful one, however; they had real affection for each other, and she was, in modern terms, a political junkie, who helped him in his career.

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.