PARSLEY'S PICS: Four Brave Men

Ms. Parsley has an excellent post on the NY vote for gay marriage. Hooray for these four BRAVE guys--especially Mr. McDonald, who stated his case so well!!

PARSLEY'S PICS: Four Brave Men: "As everyone in the whole wide world should know by now, last night the New York Senate approved the same-sex marriage law by a vote of  3..."

One more by Royko....

Until yesterday's post, many of XE's readers had never before heard of Chicago's great Mike Royko (r.i.p.). Here's a column he wrote the year before my son was born:

August 16, 1967

Picasso and the Cultural Rebirth of Chicago

Mayor Daley walked to the white piece of ribbon and put his hand on it. He was about to give it a pull when the photographers yelled for him to wait. He stood there for a minute and gave them that familiar blend of scowl and smile.
It was good that he waited. This was a moment to think about, to savor what was about to happen. In just a moment, with a snap of the mayor's wrist, Chicago history would be changed. That's no small occurrence·the cultural rebirth of a big city.
Out there in the neighborhoods and the suburbs, things probably seemed just the same. People worried about the old things·would they move in and would we move out? Or would we move in and would they move out?
But downtown, the leaders of culture and influence were gathered for a historical event and it was reaching a climax with Mayor Daley standing there ready to pull a ribbon.
Thousands waited in and around the Civic Center plaza. They had listened to the speeches about the Picasso thing. They had heard how it was going to change Chicago's image.
They had heard three clergymen·a priest, a rabbi, and a Protestant minister·offer eloquent prayers. That's probably a record for a work by Picasso, a dedicated atheist.
And now the mayor was standing there, ready to pull the ribbon.
You could tell it was a big event by the seating. In the first row on the speakers platform was a lady poet. In the second row was Alderman Tom Keane. And in the third row was P. J. Cullerton, the assessor. When Keane and Cullerton sit behind a lady poet, things are changing.
The only alderman in the front row was Tom Rosenberg. And he was there only because it was a cultural event and he is chairman of the City Council's Culture Committee, which is in charge of preventing aldermen from spitting, swearing, and snoring during meetings.
The whole thing had been somber and serious. The Chicago Symphony Orchestra had played classical music. It hadn't played even one chorus of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow."
Chief Judge John Boyle had said the Picasso would become more famous than the Art Institute's lions. Boyle has vision.
Someone from the National Council of Arts said it was paying tribute to Mayor Daley. This brought an interested gleam in the eyes of a few ward committeemen.
William Hartmann, the man who thought of the whole thing, told of Picasso's respect for Mayor Daley. Whenever Hartmann went to see Picasso, the artist asked:
"Is Mayor Daley still mayor of Chicago?"
When Hartmann said this, Mayor Daley bounced up and down in his chair, he laughed so hard. So did a few Republicans in the cheap seats, but they didn't laugh the same way.
After the ceremony, it came to that final moment the mayor standing there holding the white ribbon.
Then he pulled.
There was a gasp as the light blue covering fell away in several pieces. But it was caused by the basic American fascination for any mechanical feat that goes off as planned.
In an instant the Picasso stood there unveiled for all to see.

The Picasso sculpture

A few people applauded. But at best, it was a smattering of applause. Most of the throng was silent.
They had hoped, you see, that it would be what they had heard it would be.
A woman, maybe. A beautiful soaring woman. That is what many art experts and enthusiasts had promised. They had said that we should wait that we should not believe what we saw in the pictures.
If it was a woman, then art experts should put away their books and spend more time in girlie joints.
The silence grew. Then people turned and looked at each other. Some shrugged. Some smiled. Some just stood there, frowning or blank-faced.
Most just turned and walked away. The weakest pinch-hitter on the Cubs receives more cheers.
They had wanted to be moved by it. They wouldn't have stood there if they didn't want to believe what they had been told that it would be a fine thing.
But anyone who didn't have a closed mind·which means thinking that anything with the name Picasso connected must be wonderful could see that it was nothing but a big, homely metal thing.
That is all there is to it. Some soaring lines, yes. Interesting design, I'm sure. But the fact is, it has a long stupid face and looks like some giant insect that is about to eat a smaller, weaker insect. It has eyes that are pitiless, cold, mean.
But why not? Everybody said it had the spirit of Chicago. And from thousands of miles away, accidentally or on purpose, Picasso captured it.
Up there in that ugly face is the spirit of Al Capone, the Summerdale scandal cops, the settlers who took the Indians but good.
Its eyes are like the eyes of every slum owner who made a buck off the small and weak. And of every building inspector who took a wad from a slum owner to make it all possible.
It has the look of the dope pusher and of the syndicate technician as he looks for just the right wire to splice the bomb to.
Any bigtime real estate operator will be able to look into the face of the Picasso and see the spirit that makes the city's rebuilding possible and profitable.
It has the look of the big corporate executive who comes face to face with the reality of how much water pollution his company is responsible for and then thinks of the profit and loss and of his salary.
It is all there in that Picasso thing the I Will spirit. The I will get you before you will get me spirit.
Picasso has never been here, they say. You'd think he's been riding the L all his life.

Copyright notice: Excerpted from One More Time: The Best of Mike Royko by Mike Royko, published by the University of Chicago Press. ¿ 1999 by the University of Chicago. All rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of U.S. copyright law, and it may be archived and redistributed in electronic form, provided that this entire notice, including copyright information, is carried and provided that the University of Chicago Press is notified and no fee is charged for access. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the consent of the University of Chicago Press.

If you've been to Chicago in the last 40 or so years, you may have seen this. I think it looks just like a baboon. I love Royko's "It is all there in that Picasso thing the I Will spirit. The I will get you before you get me spirit."

Royko, we miss you!

During my morning meditation, the first event in my daily spirichal regimen, I was trying to remember the name of that great Chicago columnist who could skewer politicians and big name artists to a fare-thee-well. Was it Royko? I looked it up in the Google, as George W. Bush might say if he were making any sense at all. Yep. It was Mike Royko (1932-1997), who wrote his commentaries for the Chicago Tribune and won a Pulitzer Prize when he was 40.

The reason I was trying to think of his name was because he wrote a column one time about his way of grocery shopping. Royko had a firm rule about grocery shopping: never buy more groceries until you've eaten all the ones you've already bought. If Royko ran out of milk, he finished his box of corn flakes with water. No more bread? Just open the tuna and eat it right out of the can with a fork. That sort of thing.

Why did I need to do research on Royko and his grocery-shopping rule practically on awakening? Because, after a good night's sleep, I finally remembered what that small dishwasher-sized appliance was in this one condo I looked at recently. Despite its size and placement (under the counter), it is not a dishwasher. It's the refrigerator! Thus my thoughts on grocery buying strategies.

This condo also does not have a bathtub. I need a bathtub to keep in top shape. And do you think I noticed this tublessness when I visited the place with an eye to moving in there? Nope. I was enchanted by the cupboards (pardon me, cabinets) which my companion loved because they reminded her of her mother's. Actually, I hate cabinets, but they are good for storing books behind doors to keep the dust off. The only downside here might be their absorption of odors and humidity, but I have a feeling there would not be much actual cooking in this kitchen, so it would not be a problem.

Anyway, here's one of Mike Royko's columns, though not the one on his shopping rules. You can see why he won a Pulitzer at an age when most people are finally getting out of grad school. What a writer!  Where are his replacements on the national scene?

March 19, 1991 Ticket to Good Life Punched with Pain The police chief of Los Angeles is being widely condemned because of the now-famous videotaped flogging of a traffic offender. But Chief Daryl Gates, while refusing to resign, suggests that the brutal beating might have been an uplifting act that could bring long-range positive results for the beating victim. As the chief put it at a press conference Monday: "We regret what took place. I hope he [Rodney King, the beating victim] gets his life straightened out. Perhaps this will be the vehicle to move him down the road to a good life instead of the life he's been involved in for such a long time." I hadn't thought of it that way, but there could be something in what Chief Gates says. There's no doubt that King, 25, hasn't been an exemplary citizen, although he's no John Dillinger. When the police stopped him for speeding, he was on parole for using a tire iron to threaten and rob a grocer. But as Chief Gates said, the experience of being beaten, kicked, and shot with an electric stun gun might be what it takes to "move him down the road to a good life." Who knows, in a few years when all of this is forgotten, a reporter might drive out to a nice house in a California suburb and find a peaceful Rodney King pushing a mower across his lawn. The reporter might ask: "Mr. King, what is it that moved you down the road to a good life?" "That's a good question," Mr. King might reply, "and I'll be glad to explain it to you. You'll have to excuse me if I wobble and drool a bit; my face has nerve damage and my coordination hasn't been the same since they damaged my brain." "Of course." "But to get back to your question. I think it was after L.A.'s finest hit me about fifty or fifty-five times with their clubs. As you recall, some of the fillings flew out of my teeth and one of my eye sockets sort of exploded." "Must have been a tad uncomfortable." "Yes. And at that point, I'm pretty sure that those nine skull fractures and internal injuries had already occurred, my cheekbone was fractured, one of my legs was broken, and I had this burning sensation from being zapped with that electric stun gun. I was feeling kind of low." "That's to be expected." "Right. But as I was lying there, and they were getting in a few final kicks, and then sort of hog-tying my hands to my legs and dragging me along the ground, I said to myself: 'Why not try to look at the bright side?'" "And did you?" "Yes. I thought: 'Well, one of my legs isn't broken; one of my eye sockets isn't fractured; one of my cheekbones isn't broken. And although my skull is fractured, my head remains attached to my body; and while fillings have popped out of my teeth, I still have the teeth.' And I said to myself: 'Half a body is better than none.'" "Very inspiring." "Thank you. And I had a chance to think about why the police were treating me that way. It was their way of telling me that speeding is an act of antisocial behavior and I had been very bad, bad, bad." "You have unusual insight." "I try. And I thought that if only I had led the life of a model citizen, this wouldn't have happened to me. Let's face it. The L.A. police never fracture the skull of the president of the chamber of commerce, the chief antler in the Loyal Order of Moose, or the head of the PTA. No, it was my past history of antisocial behavior that brought it on." "But they had no way of knowing you were on parole." "Yes, but I'm sure they could guess just by the look of me. Be honest, I don't look at all like the head of the PTA, do I?" "True." "Then, later, when Police Chief Gates said that the beating, although regrettable, could be the vehicle that would get me on the road to the good life, everything became clear. I realized that the beating would turn my life around and be a one-way ticket to the good life." "The chief's words inspired you?" "Not exactly. To be honest Chief Gates' words convinced me that he had to be as dumb an S.O.B. as ever opened his mouth at a press conference." "But you said he helped you to a good life." "That's right, he did." "How?" "When I took his police department to court, that jury awarded me a couple of million in damages, and I've been leading the good life ever since." "I don't think that's what the chief had in mind." "I don't think that chief had anything in mind."

Copyright notice: Excerpted from One More Time: The Best of Mike Royko by Mike Royko, published by the University of Chicago Press. 1999 by the University of Chicago. All rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of U.S. copyright law, and it may be archived and redistributed in electronic form, provided that this entire notice, including copyright information, is carried and provided that the University of Chicago Press is notified and no fee is charged for access. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the consent of the University of Chicago Press.

You know who you are.....

Day 30: Last day!

"30 days hath September,
April, JUNE, and November...."

I said I was going to post every day for 30 days, and with this last post, I can say I did.  Big whoop.  I've rather liked it.  It has revealed just how sloppy my thinking has become, and my posting along with it. And I've found some interesting new websites and all, despite Google's efforts to dumb everything I look at down to my level. 

Lots of you are doing fabulous things in your lives and writing wonderfully about it.  Whoopee is redoing her dwelling place in London, and I would absolutely love doing that kind of work again.
Take a look at her post.  Is this great stuff, or what? 

Maybe I'll do another 30 days, but I realize I need some new inspiration.  Hm.

Day 29: Puritans, continued.....

I apologize for an imprecise post yesterday.  That cranky old Quaker behind Kay's Thinking Cap caught me in several sloppy statements--and probably more to come *:0)

Yes, the Founding Fathers (FF) were NOT Puritans. They were mostly deists with one actual Unitarian (Adams). As for "Today John Adams would have been on Prozac"...that's very modern conjecture on the part of the "expert" (from Fox News, perhaps?) Adams was the only member of a denomination among the first five presidents but not the only church attender in that group. Virtually all of the first five presidents attended Anglican churches with some frequency whether they were baptized or confirmed.  Also, let me remind myself that there were nonpresidents among the FF: Benjamin Franklin being the one I remember best.

However, Ms. Thinking Cap, I did not MENTION the FF in yesterday's post.  There were Puritans here, though, and they were very prominent in the life of the colonies. Not being FF did not negate their presence or influence. Yesterday's birthday boy, Increase Mather, was the Boston-born son of a Puritan preacher and became a preacher himself. Increase Mather also became the sixth president of Harvard University. He handed an M.A. diploma to his son Cotton Mather on the boy's 18th birthday. Cotton Mather, famous Puritan, entered Harvard at age 12. Puritanism had several strong branches in the early colonies, too: Congregationalists and Presbyterians, who are still with us.  I went with my friend Joanie to her Plymouth Congregational church one time in Fargo.  And my friend Nan was raised a Presbyterian. (Diana, too?)

Yes, the Puritans did not leave England to "ESCAPE the punitive laws of that sect...." They left to find a new area in which to set up their church without hassle from the British Puritans, who they felt were nasty and very bossy. The early Puritan arrivals here wanted MORE and PURER Puritans, not fewer or none.

Note to Diana, who also commented on yesterday's column: Had they all gone, I'm sure the British royalty, at least, would have been very happy or at least relieved. The stay-at-homes managed to behead Charles I for treason.  The Puritans seem to have a long tradition for loathing civil (and religious, especially Roman) authority. 

Day 28: Puritans.....

Coming in under the wire on this busy, stressful 28th day.  [Thought I had a condo nailed, but at the very LAST minute, the deal fell through, thanks to what I consider possible greed on the part of the board.] So....back to thinking about something else besides getting a less expensive roof over my head.

I do a lot of reading online every day.  Yesterday, I ran into a blog dedicated to untold or undertold stories in American history.  (Sorry....I can't remember the name of the blog after all the other excitement).  The undertold story for today was about Increase Mather, the youngest of five sons of a 17th century minister who became a minister himself and adhered strictly to the rules of his Puritan roots.  His birthday was June 21, which (still) is today.  I rode the shuttle bus for almost 20 years with a teacher whose last name was Mather, and I got to thinking about all the people on the East Coast I've met whose families go way back in American history:  people named Sparks and Carroll.  Anyway, I started with the history blog, which, via Increase Mather's bio, led me to a website for persons who adhere to a Christian Fundamentalist creed that links directly to the early Puritans.

The Puritans indeed are still with us.  They left England in the 17th century to escape the punitive laws of that sect, but they brought themselves along.  What was interesting to me was finding that the early Puritans not only were ultra religious but also VERY ACTIVE POLITICALLY!  Is this ringing any bells so far?  Our own ultra-right fundamentalists have not fallen far from this early Puritan tree at all. What makes them so persistent--and dangerous--in their lust for conversions is their skill in political maneuvering.

Day 27: Well.....

If you haven't figured out why Vitter is still walking around the Senate and Weiner is gone from the House, you may find this instructive.  It's also a good example of why The New Yorker's Hendrik Hertzberg is one of my favorite writers.

Day 26: My favorite, if I have one....

http://0.tqn.com/d/politicalhumor/1/0/S/7/4/Weiners-Little-Fella.jpg

Day 25: Welcome to A Girl and Her Bike blog!!

Xtreme English welcomes a terrific woman warrior: A Girl and Her Bike.

I found her blog and her amazing post from this past winter while browsing my blog reading list.  This reading list features, from the sheer volume of his posting, the ineffable Prince of Petworth.  He reports all kinds of local events including crimes, accidents, police calls, and the like on his wonderful blog.  This particular post should give us all caution, especially if we ride a bicycle in this fair city.  Francine, my bicycle, has had flat tires since last fall, so I haven't been out.  But others, including Cathy, have.  Please be careful, folks.  It really IS a jungle out there, and a lot of the cats are driving those stinking multi-ton pieces of steel & plastic known as automobiles, and some of them really ARE out to get you.

Girl and Her Bike (GAHB), while riding her bicycle home after a long, tiring day at work, was assaulted by a local personnage who bumped her--TWICE--as she waited for a red light.  GAHB was not looking for trouble, but she realized that the driver was breaking the law, and that wasn't right.  So she got out her police badge and told him to stay right where he was.  Yes, GAHB is a COP!  Off duty at the time.  The driver and his passengers, who previously had been enjoying the hilarious fun of bumping a cyclist with their car, reassessed their position and took off. Then the fun started.

It's a longish post, but if you're like me, you'll find the deneuemont satifying.  You go, Girl and Her Bike!!!

Day 24: Friday morning mystery

Linda send this, and her mother sent it to her.  We all like it!!  Who wrote this?

Google is not being helpful. Seems like it's been posted and talked about in blogs and discussion boards and local newspapers all over the country, with no mention of an author.  The "new" Google is fairly hopeless. I think the "old" Google would have nailed it!!

Linda the magnificent found the title AND author:  "The Clothesline Said So Much" by Marilyn K. Walker.  Now we know.

A clothes line was a news forecast
To neighbors passing by.
There were no secrets you could keep
When clothes were hung to dry.

It also was a friendly link
For neighbors always knew
If company had stopped on by
To spend a night or two.

For then you'd see the 'fancy sheets'
And towels upon the line;
You'd see the 'company table cloths'
With intricate design.

The line announced a baby's birth
To folks who lived inside
As brand new infant clothes were hung
So carefully with pride.

The ages of the children could
So readily be known --
By watching how the sizes changed
You'd know how much they'd grown.

It also told when illness struck,
As extra sheets were hung;
Then nightclothes, and a bathrobe, too,
Haphazardly were strung.

It said, 'Gone on vacation now'
When lines hung limp and bare.
It told, 'We're back!' when full lines sagged
With not an inch to spare.

New folks in town were scorned upon
If wash was dingy gray,
As neighbors carefully raised their brows,
And looked the other way..

But clotheslines now are of the past
For dryers make work less.
Now what goes on inside a home
Is anybody's guess.

I really miss that way of life.
It was a friendly sign
When neighbors knew each other best
By what hung on the line! 

Day 23: lost in Southern Maryland

Getting lost in southern Maryland is as easy as falling off a log.  One minute you are humming along in your car, following directions from a Google map, and then the next minute, you are LOST!  And if you are using a GPS device (not the fancy ones that sit on your dashboard like a 13' TV, but the handheld kind), it's even worse.  The iPhone GPS is gorgeous but quite unsteady...when my driving companion is holding it, it's solid as a rock.  If she hands it to me so I can read it (she has bouts of myopia), it FLIPS to some other app without my touching anything.  And that means we're back to stage 1, which is not knowing where we are other than SOMEWHERE in southern Maryland. "I didn't know there was such a place as Westphalia here, did you??" Um, no.  My mother was born in Westphalia, but it was NOWHERE near southern Maryland.

The GPS challenge may be a test of friendship.  My driving companion said WORDS to me today that she has never said before!  Personally I feel this is great progress.  She is gradually becoming comfortable with thinking of me and actually saying out loud that I am a horse's neck.  I like that.  I like that she feels comfortable enough to tell me to go to hell now and then.  That has been one of the great problems of female friendship--women are SOOOO sensitive.  You can tell men to go eff themselves, and they think nothing of it.  If you say that to a woman, however, that's the bitter end. 

Anyway, when we got to our friends' house, a big hawk or maybe even an eagle flew overhead.  That's a great omen. 

Day 22: Dominic at the waterfall

Today Cathy, Rachael, Dominic, and I visited the National Gallery. The Gauguin exhibit was gone, and workmen were dismantling the black gondola in front of the Canaletto exhibit, also closed. We took in the Nam June Paik exhibit in the Tower gallery, then took a break for coffee, tea, and carrots with rice cereal. Then Dominic and Rachael posed in front of the glassed-in, man-made waterfall, one of the delights of I.M. Pei's design that children, especially, seem to love. They can get right up next to it, and they don't get wet or make their parents nervous.

Dominic, at 7 months, is already a big fan.

Day 21: At the P.O.

This will be short, as I have been bizzy today.  But I wish to share what I call one of my "found  experiences" with you. 

I was in the U.S. post office last week mailing a card to my grandson. 

While I was waiting in line, a young woman approached one of the clerks at the counter and said, "I want to send one of those FedEx things."

The clerk leaned back, tipped her head a bit, and said, "We don't DO no 'FedEx things' here."

"Well, you do something," said the young woman. "If I write a letter, you'll send it anywhere, right?"

"Where do you want to send your letter?" said the clerk.

"London," said the young woman.

"Well, fine," said the clerk.  "We do send letters to London. Do you have it with you?"

I didn't hear the young woman's reply, as it was my turn to go to the other clerk at the counter.

Um....It's possibly quite important to point out that this young woman was blonde.  Just sayin....

Day 20: Photographic interlude

Took this last week when I was on the way home from Sally's. This window in this kind of shop is just ONE of the things I LOVE about NYC. Soho has been invaded by chains, but there are still seriously useful, quirkily creative outlets owned by just one or two people who work their butts off. This is a yarn shop, but I loved the honey bee theme.

The window also reflects the building across the street and the photographer herself. I haven't figured out how to prevent that kind of thing, except maybe not taking the photo.

Day 19: Ooops

I posted two yesterday, too.  Here's one just for Saturday. Gretchen, Bob, and Ruby--are you in this???

Day 18b: I'm gonna finish this "100 things about me" today!!

85:  My favorite class in college was Medieval Latin. I especially liked how they wrote it: lots of ellisions & abbreviations.  In many ways, it's like what we use now:  OMG, LOL, WTF  (well, not THAT, but you get the drift....)

86:  Writing it by hand is also what I liked best about my first class in Hebrew.  It's like DRAWING!

87:  Arabic is the same, but I had only one class in that--at the Textile Museum in DC.  Lida and I went to an open house for kids, and they gave everyone materials to copy Arabic letters.

88:  When I was a kid, we ALWAYS sat through a movie twice!

89:  That included two showings of the news reels and cartoons, too.

90:  My friend Joanie's dad used to take us along sometimes when he visited this one farm as a grain buyer.  We'd climb up into the hayloft and search for pigeon skulls while he talked with the farmer.

91:  I liked to read Black Elk Speaks and Heidi to my kids as a break from Dr. Seuss.

92:  Jello was a real treat in our house--like at Christmas or Thanksgiving.  My mom mixed orange and lemon jello with grated carrots and pineapple.

93:  When I was about 3 or 4, I knew I had a bunch of older brothers, but I didn't know who they were.  They were never around when I was awake.  They worked before AND after school and were not home yet when I went to bed after supper.

94:  After World War II, we used to get Army surplus canned fruit at the Catholic school.  I think the sisters got it for the orphanage, which they also ran, but we pupils got some, too.  The sisters would bring this big tin can of pineapple around, and if we had remembered to bring a cup and spoon from home, we could have a soup ladle full of canned pineapple.   

95:  In the 8th grade, we'd get to go a few blocks down to the radio station WDAY after we gobbled our sandwiches from home.  The "Co-op Shoppers" was on every M-F at noon, and our classmate Faith Butts's dad was the leader.  The Co-op Shoppers were a country combo who played Scandinavian tunes on their fiddles and accordions.

96:  The theme song went something like this:

If you want to co-operate with your neighbor,
Spare your pockets for cash once more, lighten your labor,
Shop at the co-op for all that you need.
The co-op is yours, you can make it succeed.
So if you want to co-operate, really co-operate,
Shop Farmer's Union Co-op!

97:  WDAY's studio was about halfway between the Great Northern railroad tracks and St. Mary's Cathedral.  When it was above freezing (June-August), a man named Gus had a popcorn stand next
to the tracks.  On the other side of downtown, the Northern Pacific tracks also cut across Broadway, the main street of Fargo. There was a popcorn stand there, too, but I don't know who ran it.  They both kept melted butter in a big enamel coffee pot, and every bag of popcorn got a generous drizzle of butter.

98:  Some of my classmates who lived near the train station took empty buckets after school and collected coal that had fallen along the tracks.  They took it home and used it to help heat their houses.

99:  One of my prized possessions in 5th grade was an army surplus gas mask bag--not too dissimilar from the canvas backpacks/book bags kids haul around now.  It was olive drab and smelled brand new when I got it.

100:  I lost my hearing when I was 26.  I thank God for the excellent education I had up to that point. 
  It saved my bacon!

Amen!!

Day 18: What's Your Filter Bubble Like? UPDATE 6/11/2011

This is another great talk from TED, and I thank Major Reader for posting it the other day. One of my major problems with TED is the imbalance between the number of contributions from men vs. the number from women. Perhaps this is what Eli Pariser is talking about--the filter bubble behind not necessarily how we see society but behind how society is interpreted to and for us.  But here's Eli Pariser...



UPDATE Diana from Democracyforcalifornia has sent the youtube version of this--says it has the full talk: http://youtu.be/hOTPz7KnwIA

Two posts in one day?

Yes...Thanks to Jimmy who sent out today's Writer's Almanac to the Feeney audience, we now know it's Cole Porter's birthday! Mr. Porter was just three years older than my dad, and he wrote, among many popular classics of the American musical theater, the immortal "I Hate Men" from the musical "Kiss Me Kate."

I hate men.
I can't abide them even now and then.
Then ever marry one of them, I'd rest a maiden rather,
For husbands are a boring lot that only give you bother.
Of course, I'm awful glad that mother had to marry father,
Still, I hate men.

Of all the types of men I've met in our democracy,
I hate the most the athlete with his manner bold and brassy.
He may have hair upon his chest, but sister, so has Lassie!
Oh, I hate men!

I hate men.
They should be kept like piggies in a pen.
You may be wooed by Jack the Tar, so charming and so chipper,
But if you're wooed by Jack the Tar, be sure that you're the skipper.
For Jack the Tar can go too far. Remember Jack the Ripper?
Oh, I hate men!

If thou shouldst wed a business man, be wary, oh be wary:
He'll tell you he's detained in town on business necessary.
The business is the business that he gives his secretary!
Oh, I hate men!

I hate men.
Though roosters they, I will not play the hen.
If you espouse an older man through girlish optimism,
He'll always stay at home and night and make no criticism.
Though you may call it love, the doctors call it rheumatism.
Oh, I hate men!

Of all I've read, alone in bed, from A to Zed about 'em,
Since love is blind, then from the mind, all womankind should rout 'em.
But, ladies, you must answer too, what would we do without 'em?
Still, I HATE men!

My sediments exactly....

Day 17: Don't make me come up there after you!!

Day 16: Can you say "banal"?? Not any more.....

France has banned the words "Facebook" and "Twitter" from TV newscasts unless they are referring to actual news about the companies themselves. The French regulators say any other use of the words is "clandestine advertising," and that's prohibited by French law. Sigh. We used to have commonsensical laws like this, didn't we? Didn't we used to ban monopolies?

The regulator of THIS blog now removes items from her FB feed that deal with any mention whatsoever of the media circus woman (MCW) from our northernmost state. She doesn't care if the items COMPLAIN about, or make fun of, or deprecate MCW, our blog regulator feels it's all "clandestine advertising." Hmph.

Day 15: Almost done!

71: I married a Repubican, and I wound up being the Republican election judge at our little country precinct in Bismarck.

72: Scratch a Republican OR a Democrat, and you'll find....a POLITICIAN! That's what I told myself, anyway.

73: When the wrens arrived in our yard in the spring in Bismarck, I knew the wild asparagus would be up in the woods!

74: Jobs I have done because nobody would hire me to do anything else cuz I was deaf: student apartment cleaner, trumpet vine removal, walking beans, newspaper carrier for the Daily Iowan (2 hours' exercise 5x a week, no collections, $100 pay/month), alterations in tuxedo rental shop, kitchen prep in the Mt. Vernon General restaurant, house painting (inside and out), steak knife packaging, sorting hangers in a commercial laundry (white for shirts, bronze for uniform pants), mortgage filing for big bank, data entry for health insurance company, writing papers for hard-pressed students (all women). Loved it all.

75: Good God....25 more to go....Planted garlic one year, and little Sally loved to go through the garden and sample the fresh vegetables. She'd scream bloody murder when she bit into the garlic.

77: I taught 4th grade catechism for several years. Loved 4th graders. They're still kids, but they're old enough to converse with you.

78: I was Girl Scout cookie mother one year in Minneapolis for our local troupe.

79: My friend Maureen and I used to plan and throw parties for senior citizens in our parish at St. Anthony's. It was great fun.

80: When St. Anthony's had their 100th anniversary, my friend Sarah and I videotaped interviews with all the old timers who had gone to St. Antony's as children. I asked Sister Antonine (the redoubtable former 'Stacia O'Brien and then Provincial Superior of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet in St. Paul) if she remembered the name of her father's newspaper. She said, "Yes."

81: Sister Antonine, who was mistress of the Juniorate when I was there, said my handwriting looked like "ant tracks."

82: Sister Antonine was about 4'10", and at Sarah's funeral, I told her I hadn't remembered that she was so SHORT.

83: My first crisis of faith came when I was assigned to be sacristan in the convent. One of the sacristan's jobs was filling the ciboria with unconsecrated wafers prior to Mass. The unconsecrated wafers came in a cardboard box from a community of cloistered nuns, whose job it was to bake and ship them. Wear and tear due to rough handling in the post office resulted in a few unconsecrated hosts getting cracked or broken. Courtesy, or something, required that we not put any BROKEN wafers in the ciborium. And we were not allowed to throw them away, either, because someone might think it was a consecrated wafer. So we ate them. They didn't taste any different, whether they were consecrated or not. Hm.

84: I always wanted to marry an Irishman, and I did.

85. more to come....meh

Day 14: How Time Flies When You're Having Fun....Blogging!

Ha...I've done two weeks' worth of daily blogs as of today. Glory be! I'm back home and catching up with my correspondence and other things. Had a swell time at Sally's during graduation weekend. She and Jay are so kind and generous and fun to be with. Their friends all love them. And Sam's all graduated from high school! What a challenge high school is for kids! Some sail through without a hitch, but others--most others--struggle in many ways. I didn't exactly struggle, but I generally hated it. The classes bored me out of my skull, and I was never destined to be a popular girl, whatever that took. I loved G.A.A. (sports) and working on the school newspaper and, later, drama, but the rest of it was a snore. One of my favorite sayings is "If you liked school, you'll LOVE work!" Most people respond to that by saying, "But I LOVED school!" Gah. In the evenings at home, I spent most of my time reading (books not on my list of required reading for school) under the covers at night and listening to "Stars from Paris" from the radio station in Moorhead at 11 p.m. I don't think I even knew WHAT Paris was or WHERE, but I loved the French singers--women, most of the time. And possibly some men, but I don't remember them.

We get through those years, but each stage is followed by the next with its own unique challenges. I was in the convent for most of the time I was in college. We didn't have a whole lot of time to study, especially if you got permission to go to early night prayer (7:30 p.m., after recreation was over). If you stayed up until regular night prayer at 9 p.m., you had at least 1.5 hours in which to study each day. But I was exhausted by then, and I often went to bed early. The classes that required the most studying were Latin and Greek. Everything else I could rely on my excellent memory to just go to classes and pass the tests without much of a sweat. But Latin and Greek required translation, and that took time to write out. We had excellent teachers, most of whom had taught every grade from kindergarten on up through college. You just had to show up in their classes to learn.

Still, if the classes were at least good, the college library was a wonder, and I spent many hours in there reading and thinking.

So...I'm thinking I should get involved in some kind of formal learning again. Photography? Sally's sister-in-law Cate is prodigiously talented in many areas--she's acted on the stage and painted and designed furniture and now is heavily into photography, which she is approaching with her unique way of bending techniques to go beyond the limits of simple vision. If I could figure out all the things my own camera can do, I might have a chance to have some serious fun taking pictures.

The artist Gauguin was surprisingly versatile in expressing his art. The recent exhibit at the National Gallery showed his fabulous work not only in painting but also in ceramics and wood carving and sculpture. That's the thing about art. It's a blast!!!

Day 13: OMG, not done YET!

Continuing the endlessly fascinating "100 Things About Me" meme....

58: My only residual from polio has never been noticeable to anyone but me. My left leg is weaker than the other. I never start up a staircase with my left foot.

59: In the convent one summer, we somehow found a cache of musical instruments and sheet music, and we formed a small brass band and practiced outside at night during recreation. I played the sousaphone.

60: My favorite of all the old polkas, waltzes, and schottishes we played was Johann Strauss' waltz "Freut euch des lebens"--"Enjoy Life while the lamp still glows. Pluck the rose while it still blooms."

61: I went to graduate school in Harlem and lived in Brooklyn. Took the D or the Q train straight through both ways.

62: Since classes did not start until 6 p.m., I spent my mornings at the Art Students League studying anatomical drawing.

63: I met my friend Lida at the Art Students League. Lida has been a gift from the gods of art and beauty.

64. Favorite Spanish drink: Calimocho--half Coca Cola (I use diet coke) and half red wine.

65: I loved the Saturday morning Shabbat service at Shir Tikvah. Still have a copy of the prayer booklet.

66: My last meal? My mom's potato pancakes.

67: In the summer of 1959, my Latin teacher, who was on the college's Fulbright committee, said she would recommend me for a Fulbright scholarship to Italy to study Latin. I left the convent instead.

68: When I was young, DC was the last place in the WORLD I ever would have thought I'd like to live, but I've been here for 19 years the end of this month. (And thanks for the ride to the airport, LuAnn!)

69: I got my MFA on what would have been my mother's 101st birthday. She was long dead, or she might have had a heart attack.

70: I paint pictures for the sheer fun of it. The paint does all the work!

71: (zzzzzz...more to come)

Day 12: Off to CT (soon)

Well....We're about to embark on Sam's Graduation Day (from h.s.). The dogs, Lily & Shep) will stay here and, I'm told, will not devour the package of meat thawing on the counter. If the meat were thawed or NOT in the package, or if it were too close to the edge of the counter, it would be another story.

Oops...time to go....

Back later today with Sam and all his stuff.

Day 11: more of the 100 things about me....

54: Nobody ever loves my gardens but ME. A row of lettuce seeds sprouting fills me with absolute delight. So there are weeds next to them? So what?

55: I make very good pies!

56: Bread, too, though my best recipe comes from Grandma Peters.

57: Most of my best friends are from grade school days.

58: [more to come....c'mon...i have to go to CT tmw for Sam's h.s. graduation!!]

Day 10: 100 things about me...almost

Thanks to the blogger at BE GAY ABOUT IT for her sterling example.  I guess I've seen this meme suggested by other bloggers, too--apparently it's a blogger tradition--but I've never really thought about it. In any case, today's the day. June 3, poet Alan Ginsburg's birthday!

1. I love popcorn.

2. Mom wanted to name me Alicia Ann. Whew!

3. My husband and I bought our first house--a log house on two acres of Missouri River bottomland--without seeing the inside. It was that great.

4. While the kids napped, I used to sit on the back porch and shoot ground squirrels with an air rifle.

5. I started smoking my dad's cigarette butts when I was 10 or so.

6. We sewed our own Sunday habits in the convent.

7. My brother taught me how to drive when I was 10.

8. My mother took me to the circus once and bought me a chameleon with a wee collar and chain that I could pin to my shirt. He rode around on my shoulder for a week or two. 

9. I read WAR AND PEACE when I was 13.

10. I've been to Paris twice.

11. I can recite the first ten lines of the Odyssey in Greek.  Still.

12. When I was in high school, I wanted to be a doctor or an anthropologist or a reporter, then a nun.  Nun won.

13. I love pansies because they survive the winter here.

14. When I got married, I couldn't boil water.

15. My favorite place to eat in NYC used to be Rainbow Falafel...just down the block from Union Square.

16. I love old age. 

17. During my last summer in the convent, I used to sit outside every night in my nightgown on a small porch off the top floor of the provincial house and watch the stars come out.

18. I haven't heard a nighthawk swoop for more than 50 years.

19. Elizabeth Bishop and Alan Ginsburg came into my sights when I was 60 years old. I couldn't imagine how I could have NOT read them before.

20. I can cast a fly.

21. And spear a fish.

22. And fish through the ice.

23. I have a light weather helmsman rating from the University of Iowa sailing club.

24. If I could be anything in the world I wanted, I'd be an architect.

25. The first time I rode a motorbike by myself, I ran into a fence.

26. My spirit companion is a bear.

27. I love soaking in a hot tub of water. North Dakota survival habits die hard.

28. Spanish wines are my favorites

29. By far!

30. After they get to know me, dogs tend to want to sit by me.

31. And even strange dogs lick my pants legs!

32. I'm wildly allergic to cats.

33. As a kid, I liked to make little clay figures: chairs, tables, people, cats, bicycles, dogs, dishes....it could occupy me all afternoon.

34. I love the Red Train between Paris and Amsterdam.

35. On the Amalfi Coast, I was enchanted by the little green lizards on the hiking paths.

36. Two of my grandsons are almost in their 30s!!!

37. I am a miserable chess player.

38. However, nobody has ever beaten me at "Smess: The Ninny's Chess."

39. I am a member of Beta Beta Beta, the National Biological Honor Society.

40. During WWII, my friend Judy and I skated on the streets to the skating rink in Fargo. No cars.

41. As I get older, I get healthier. Go figure!

42. I love movies.

43. I had polio when I was 7 and missed the first half of third grade.

44. They passed me anyway.

45. My favorite place to play at night in the winter was at my dad's workbench in the basement.

46. I'm glad I don't have a car any more.

47. I hate those tow-along suitcases people drag around.

43. When I can't haul my own bags any more, I'll quit traveling.

44. I was a bed wetter.

45. I rarely did any homework in elementary school and not a whole lot in high school. I was ALWAYS in trouble! But I LOVED college.

46. My favorite subject in first grade was art.

47. In second grade, I was supposed to give an oral book review of DR. DOOLITTLE, so I memorized it. The book. They made me sit down and shut up after the first chapter.

48. EFT works for me.

49. So does Feng Shui.

50. My household job as a kid was coloring the margarine.

51. I cook fish like my mother did: dip it first in milk, then seasoned flour, then fry.

52. I am a very fast worker when I edit.

51. I take Toprol and Plavix and 5 vitamins & supplements every day.

52. My friends from grade school are still fabulous!

53. I couldn't begin to understand and ENJOY Ulysses until I was in my 60s.

54. [all for now....]

Day 9--the house next door, back porch, 2:30 a.m.

This is the scene outside my window in the middle of the night. Light from the neighbor's porch spills onto the green lawn below the porch railing and barely reaches their picnic table just beyond. I'd love to paint this, like one of the artist Robert Berlind's paintings of the camp at Piseco. The gleaming houses soothe my eyes and spirit.  I hear no sound, no crickets, although I know they are calling. Occasional fireflies flash in the grass. This is a small town nestled right next to Washington DC, a real hicksville with 100-year-old bungalows and big yards filled with azaleas and honeysuckle, maple trees. After the sun goes down, before the sky gets inky and quiet, before I put my hearing gadget in its dry box for the night, a last train of the day makes its mournful sound down by the Anacostia river. 


On June 2, 1897, 114 years ago today, my mother was born in a small town in northwest Germany.  She was the youngest child in her family, and her own mother, my grandmother, died a little more than two years later. Mom was six years old when Grandpa, at age 47, and the other children--Anna, Joe, Tony, Frances, Henry, and Adam--moved to America in 1903. They came through Ellis Island, then took the train to Iowa. Mom told me Grandpa's brother had already moved there and found a place for them.That's all I ever heard about this brother. Did he keep on moving? 

Day 8 - NOW they tell me....

TED has been one of my favorite websites since it began.  I've posted TED talks by Jane Goodall and Robin Chase (the founder of Zipcar) and others.  However, nothing is perfectly perfect.  My friend Maureen sent me this TED episode day before yesterday:



Actually, at the point, I couldn't care less, but it is a bit bemusing to think I've been tying my shoes wrong for more than 70 years!!

Thanks a heck of a lot, 'Reen.....