at least for the next 12 hours or so...
For lunch I sat on my sunny back porch overlooking the lemon tree and had a sandwich with sardines in olive oil, mayonnaise, red onions, pepper and salt, and anchovies...
Now I have a yen for a Bear Republic Hop Rod Rye.
Makes me remember my Norwegian-Danish grandfather.
And a wonderful afternoon I spent with B, drinking beer on the back porch a couple of summers ago.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
Horae diurnae
These early autumn days have been perfect: sunshine, blue skies, temperate. San Francisco at its most attractive.
Strange dreams last night. Me going to confession but telling the priest the things I was sorry for and the things I wasn't sorry for. Not really possible to half-confess and be half-forgiven. Talk about imperfect contrition.
Like an immigrant who still thinks of the old country, my interest in the doings of the Dominican friars remains, and of late has become even stronger. The internet makes it easy to keep up with things, at least on the public surface. But like many immigrants, you think of the old country, you tend to shave off the tough edges, and you probably couldn't live there again. Part of me remembers that life clearly, but part of me looks at him now and can't quite recognize him as me. Nothing wrong with fond memories, though, be they accurate or not.
Despite the fact that the current half-African President and his tribe of czars are still in power, feckless but capable of continuing their reign of damage, I am looking forward to the rest of the day.
My life in general, however, feels like treading water.
.
Watched a Dutch film from 1992, For A Lost Soldier. Based on the autobiography of a man who was on the verge of adolescence in 1945 and who has a romantic fling with a charming Canadian soldier in a recently-liberated rural village. Though the soldier is a handsome, happy, regular guy, his infatuation with this boy is beyond my capacity to appreciate. Made me think that part of him was missing and that, even more than with the usual illusions of adult eros, he was imagining someone who was not there. I wonder if that is how gays look to ungays?
I fear I may be losing my capacity for nuance. Yes, it's true. While at the gym, I saw "Rev"* Al Sharpton as one of the regular commentators on CNN. Any agency which hires this race-baiting scumbag loses all legitimacy for me. And I saw a link to an article entitled "Michelle Bachmann's Christian Law Petri Dish". Its authoress is Jewish and writing for the NY Times. I assume immediately that it will be a snide hit piece. In both cases I make generalizations based on particulars. I do not care. Happy to make my contribution to the polarization of America.
*As I have noted before, when White preachers get involved in public affairs, their clergy status is front and center, and we have the usual hand-wringing about "separation of church and state". People apparently assume that they take their various theologies seriously and that it will impact their policy positions. But when the preachers are Black, the issue never comes up. Why? I think it's because mostly everyone knows that these guys just get reverended as a step toward social and group and political power. The Black preachers who have serious religion stay in their churches. For the likes of Sharpton or Jackson, religion is just a thin cover for Democrat politics. (In that respect, they're akin to liberal American nuns.) And being Black, they get "license and deference." They're like dark little micro-versions of Cardinal Richelieu. His status as a priest seemed to have no more effect on him than the clothing he had to wear.
Strange dreams last night. Me going to confession but telling the priest the things I was sorry for and the things I wasn't sorry for. Not really possible to half-confess and be half-forgiven. Talk about imperfect contrition.
Like an immigrant who still thinks of the old country, my interest in the doings of the Dominican friars remains, and of late has become even stronger. The internet makes it easy to keep up with things, at least on the public surface. But like many immigrants, you think of the old country, you tend to shave off the tough edges, and you probably couldn't live there again. Part of me remembers that life clearly, but part of me looks at him now and can't quite recognize him as me. Nothing wrong with fond memories, though, be they accurate or not.
Caption suggestions?
Despite the fact that the current half-African President and his tribe of czars are still in power, feckless but capable of continuing their reign of damage, I am looking forward to the rest of the day.
My life in general, however, feels like treading water.
.
Watched a Dutch film from 1992, For A Lost Soldier. Based on the autobiography of a man who was on the verge of adolescence in 1945 and who has a romantic fling with a charming Canadian soldier in a recently-liberated rural village. Though the soldier is a handsome, happy, regular guy, his infatuation with this boy is beyond my capacity to appreciate. Made me think that part of him was missing and that, even more than with the usual illusions of adult eros, he was imagining someone who was not there. I wonder if that is how gays look to ungays?
I fear I may be losing my capacity for nuance. Yes, it's true. While at the gym, I saw "Rev"* Al Sharpton as one of the regular commentators on CNN. Any agency which hires this race-baiting scumbag loses all legitimacy for me. And I saw a link to an article entitled "Michelle Bachmann's Christian Law Petri Dish". Its authoress is Jewish and writing for the NY Times. I assume immediately that it will be a snide hit piece. In both cases I make generalizations based on particulars. I do not care. Happy to make my contribution to the polarization of America.
*As I have noted before, when White preachers get involved in public affairs, their clergy status is front and center, and we have the usual hand-wringing about "separation of church and state". People apparently assume that they take their various theologies seriously and that it will impact their policy positions. But when the preachers are Black, the issue never comes up. Why? I think it's because mostly everyone knows that these guys just get reverended as a step toward social and group and political power. The Black preachers who have serious religion stay in their churches. For the likes of Sharpton or Jackson, religion is just a thin cover for Democrat politics. (In that respect, they're akin to liberal American nuns.) And being Black, they get "license and deference." They're like dark little micro-versions of Cardinal Richelieu. His status as a priest seemed to have no more effect on him than the clothing he had to wear.
Wow
is what I said out loud on reading this article. Christian Bible translators wondering if they should use the phrase "Son of God" because ... Muslims don't like it.
Wow.
Wow.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
L
L is 50 in Roman numerals.
Dylan McDermott, now 50, is looking terrific in a new horror series.
Another hot Hibernian.
Dylan McDermott, now 50, is looking terrific in a new horror series.
Another hot Hibernian.
The Sorcerer's Apprentice
I plead guilty to not knowing the source of the original story, but to having seen the Disney cartoon version as a boy. How different can they be? It's not rocket science. Or is it?
Two technological inventions* seem to have produced effects that the story describes: the Pill and the Sonogram.
Because woman can control the number of children they have, or whether they have any at all**, feminism became possible; and in its wake, the collapse of the replacement birth rate in many countries. Europe and Russia and Japan are prime examples, but not the sole ones. Birth rates are declining practically everywhere it seems. And the sonogram, revealing the sex of an unborn child, has led to the mass abortion of females in Third World cultures. The result is growing numbers of men who will never be able to marry, precisely in those cultures where marriage and family are central.
The irony of these two technologies and their very various results is that both of them seem to be unraveling the very groups that use them to make their lives better.
*Every advance in technology, in the broadest sense, produces unforeseen and uncontrollable outcomes of all kinds. I am no Luddite. Hell, I am blogging into cyberspace on a laptop!
**The Pill has saved at least one life, though; no child, especially no boychild, will ever have to say, "Maureen Dowd is my mother."
Two technological inventions* seem to have produced effects that the story describes: the Pill and the Sonogram.
Because woman can control the number of children they have, or whether they have any at all**, feminism became possible; and in its wake, the collapse of the replacement birth rate in many countries. Europe and Russia and Japan are prime examples, but not the sole ones. Birth rates are declining practically everywhere it seems. And the sonogram, revealing the sex of an unborn child, has led to the mass abortion of females in Third World cultures. The result is growing numbers of men who will never be able to marry, precisely in those cultures where marriage and family are central.
The irony of these two technologies and their very various results is that both of them seem to be unraveling the very groups that use them to make their lives better.
*Every advance in technology, in the broadest sense, produces unforeseen and uncontrollable outcomes of all kinds. I am no Luddite. Hell, I am blogging into cyberspace on a laptop!
**The Pill has saved at least one life, though; no child, especially no boychild, will ever have to say, "Maureen Dowd is my mother."
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Brits and Britesses
The Inspector Lynley Mysteries star Lynley, a member of the aristocracy who became a cop, an even-tempered and amazingly patient guy, and his sidekick and work partner, Barbara, a bitter, homely, class-obsessed, alternately controlling bitch and dependent victim, unpleasant mousy harridan who hates men and hates/envies people with money and shows it. (The face of modern Britain?). Other than her, it's not a bad series.
A hundred eighty degrees. Working my way through a 4 DVD set on King Edward VII, Victoria's son. The Prince Charles of his day, he didn't ascend the throne til he was past 60. Much costume drama, family dynamics, glimpses of a bygone world. The eventual fate of all worlds.
A hundred eighty degrees. Working my way through a 4 DVD set on King Edward VII, Victoria's son. The Prince Charles of his day, he didn't ascend the throne til he was past 60. Much costume drama, family dynamics, glimpses of a bygone world. The eventual fate of all worlds.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
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