We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
There’s something Eric Hoffer said: “Intellectuals cannot operate at room temperature.” There always has to be a crisis — some terrible reason why their superior wisdom and virtue must be imposed on the unthinking masses. It doesn’t matter what the crisis is. A hundred years ago it was eugenics. At the time of the first Earth Day a generation ago, the big scare was global cooling, a big ice age. They go from one to the other. It meets their psychological needs and gives them a reason for exercising their power.
Peaches ripen late up here in New England. Yes, there are peach varieties which thrive in the North.
As of now, I have had five friends over to pick grocery-bags full and have delivered bags to others. I'll ask a daughter to take a bag home to NYC today. And I have made substantial batches of peach jam, peach chutney, and canned spiced peaches. I am close to peached out with God and nature's abbondanza.
Still, this is a pic of the tree yesterday after all that. Plus the windfall from yesterday's thunderstorm. The local deer do not seem to like peaches. Neither do the turkeys. Squirrels like them, but it's more of a crop than they can make a dent in.
I use no sprays, no fertilizer - out of laziness as much as anything else. These peaches are as sweet as honey. I guess I'll make more jam, but let's consider peach pie, peach crumble, and peach buckle (that's old-fashioned).
Problem is that Mrs. BD and I are currently on low-carb, high protein heavy-work-out diet plans in an effort to delay the discouraging and ennervating effects of age and entropy.
Anyway, there are two types of peach pie: a custardy one and the classic plain one. I like both but maybe prefer the more custardy one. There are many variations on both themes.
Now Peach Crumble. Dynamite with some vanilla ice cream or heavy cream. I salivate as I write this.
The Jewish High Holy Days, the Days of Awe or the Days of Repentance as they are often called, begins tonight with Rosh Hashanah and ends in ten days with Yom Kippur. Compared to other Jewish holidays full of joy and laughs, these are somber days during which our deeds are weighed and our fate sealed for the coming year. G-d weighs our measure in fulfilling our responsibilities to G-d. Others weigh our measure in how we behave to them, and for those we have harmed will our confessions to them, our entreaties for forgiveness, and demonstrations of living better be considered real. Words alone are far from enough. Our actions are necessary in how we live.
We draw inspiration from G-d, and we draw upon our decency and learning to behave in a just way.
The traditional Jewish egg bread, the challah, is usually an elongated braided loaf for the Sabbath. On Rosh Hashanah we bake the challah in a circlular braid, symbolizing the crown of G-d our King and our reverence to G-d's commandments. Many centuries of experience across lands and cultures have proven them to work and be best. We dip apple slices and challah in honey to symbolize our hopes and wishes for a sweet new year to come.
There are many prayers of public confession and begging for forgiveness from G-d and from our fellow beings. Most are ancient and carry special meanings and messages. Some are more recent, or annotated, to help deliver relevant meaning to the reader or listener. There are personal prayers for our own improvement. Most come down to the basic asking G-d to help us find the strength within to do what's right. It is our responsibility to reach down deep and live up to our better self. That is my daily prayer, and it works.
Whether Jewish or other, may the coming year be one of living better.
What I discovered is that the Modern Liberal looks back on 50,000 years, 100,000 years of human civilization, and knows only one thing for sure: that none of the ideas that mankind has come up with--none of the religions, none of the philosophies, none of the ideologies, none of the forms of government--have succeeded in creating a world devoid of war, poverty, crime, and injustice. So they're convinced that since all of these ideas of man have proved to be wrong, the real cause of war, poverty, crime, and injustice must be found--can only be found--in the attempt to be right.
- Took a drive yesterday to Long Island City (part of Queens, NYC).
Long Island City (L.I.C.) is the westernmost residential and commercial neighborhood of the New York City borough of Queens. L.I.C. is noted for its rapid and ongoing residential growth and gentrification, its waterfront parks, and its thriving arts community.[1] L.I.C. has among the highest concentration of art galleries, art institutions, and studio space of any neighborhood in New York City.
Went there to see a one-act play festival at The Secret Theater. Golly, LIC is changing. High-rises everywhere under construction. We had supper at a superb tiny French bistro, LIC Market. Everybody who works there is French. You can park on the street in LIC, no problem. As a daughter says, a gritty mix of industrial, residential, and business: Real NYC.
We meandered through Astoria while en route. Got a little lost. I have never been to Astoria. It is one of the most pleasant, middle-class, and remarkably multi-cultural places I have seen. Of all things, a large Maltese population too- over 20,000. Who'da thunk it? But if you think about it, there is little to do in Malta.
It's not too far from where the big game - Jokevitch vs. Federer - is today. I can't miss that.
- Out-of-towners like us are always more familiar with Manhattan, with its totalitarian arithmetical road grid. Here is something wonderful, probably worth a trip from anywhere: Picasso, Completely Himself in 3 Dimensions. It's on my to-do list. We never miss major Picasso shows, because his craft and imagination blows my mind.
- Something else fun: Immersive (aka Interactive) theater in NYC. I have heard reports about how much fun it is. A friend had his daughter's Sweet 16th party for 25 gals at one of the scavenger hunt "plays," and a couple of people told me about the MacBeth one.
- At my point in life, a visit to NYC is always good for a dose of hyper-stimulation and amazement in the works of man but I am always happy to return to my quiet more pastoral home where the loudest noise is a cricket. If I won the Powerball, though, I think I'd buy a brownstone (with working fireplaces) in the West Village in a flash. I need both. Prosperous people in NYC belong to elite clubs as private retreats, and have dachas in the country too. I could handle that.
My lovely daughters live as if they owned NYC despite living on a shoestring. Fearless, undaunted, resourceful and adventurous, they just take daily bites of that apple as so many young people need to, and shoot for the stars. No bourgeois instincts, it seems - like their Mom. All the same, they do love to come home sometimes for love, free food, and to hit some tennis balls like the prepster kids they are.
19:1 The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims his handiwork.
19:2 Day to day pours forth speech, and night to night declares knowledge.
19:3 There is no speech, nor are there words; their voice is not heard;
19:4 yet their voice goes out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. In the heavens he has set a tent for the sun,
19:5 which comes out like a bridegroom from his wedding canopy, and like a strong man runs its course with joy.
19:6 Its rising is from the end of the heavens, and its circuit to the end of them; and nothing is hid from its heat.
19:7 The law of the LORD is perfect, reviving the soul; the decrees of the LORD are sure, making wise the simple;
19:8 the precepts of the LORD are right, rejoicing the heart; the commandment of the LORD is clear, enlightening the eyes;
19:9 the fear of the LORD is pure, enduring forever; the ordinances of the LORD are true and righteous altogether.
19:10 More to be desired are they than gold, even much fine gold; sweeter also than honey, and drippings of the honeycomb.
19:11 Moreover by them is your servant warned; in keeping them there is great reward.
19:12 But who can detect their errors? Clear me from hidden faults.
19:13 Keep back your servant also from the insolent; do not let them have dominion over me. Then I shall be blameless, and innocent of great transgression.
19:14 Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O LORD, my rock and my redeemer.
Corny as it sounds, my idea of America is individual freedom. Placing individual liberty as the major factor in every policy and political equation, despite all of the risks entailed, is what is supposed to make our nation unique. As the Founders reiterated, that can only work with a population with a strong foundation of Western Judeo-Christian morals and responsibility, culture, and traditions.
Reno goes to our cultural roots, just deeply enough for me. Powerful stuff. Renewing a Culture of Freedom featuring R.R. Reno:
It looks long to those with ADD, but well worth reading, full of gems
Hymn to Proserpine (After the Proclamation in Rome of the Christian Faith) - 1866
Vicisti, Galilaee.
I have lived long enough, having seen one thing, that love hath an end; Goddess and maiden and queen, be near me now and befriend. Thou art more than the day or the morrow, the seasons that laugh or that weep; For these give joy and sorrow; but thou, Proserpina, sleep. Sweet is the treading of wine, and sweet the feet of the dove; But a goodlier gift is thine than foam of the grapes or love. Yea, is not even Apollo, with hair and harpstring of gold, A bitter God to follow, a beautiful God to behold? I am sick of singing; the bays burn deep and chafe: I am fain To rest a little from praise and grievous pleasure and pain. For the Gods we know not of, who give us our daily breath, We know they are cruel as love or life, and lovely as death. O Gods dethroned and deceased, cast forth, wiped out in a day! From your wrath is the world released, redeemed from your chains, men say. New Gods are crowned in the city; their flowers have broken your rods; They are merciful, clothed with pity, the young compassionate Gods. But for me their new device is barren, the days are bare; Things long past over suffice, and men forgotten that were. Time and the Gods are at strife; ye dwell in the midst thereof, Draining a little life from the barren breasts of love. I say to you, cease, take rest; yea, I say to you all, be at peace, Till the bitter milk of her breast and the barren bosom shall cease. Wilt thou yet take all, Galilean? but these thou shalt not take, The laurel, the palms and the pæan, the breasts of the nymphs in the brake; Breasts more soft than a dove's, that tremble with tenderer breath; And all the wings of the Loves, and all the joy before death; All the feet of the hours that sound as a single lyre, Dropped and deep in the flowers, with strings that flicker like fire. More than these wilt thou give, things fairer than all these things? Nay, for a little we live, and life hath mutable wings. A little while and we die; shall life not thrive as it may? For no man under the sky lives twice, outliving his day. And grief is a grievous thing, and a man hath enough of his tears: Why should he labour, and bring fresh grief to blacken his years? Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown grey from thy breath; We have drunken of things Lethean, and fed on the fullness of death. Laurel is green for a season, and love is sweet for a day; But love grows bitter with treason, and laurel outlives not May. Sleep, shall we sleep after all? for the world is not sweet in the end; For the old faiths loosen and fall, the new years ruin and rend. Fate is a sea without shore, and the soul is a rock that abides; But her ears are vexed with the roar and her face with the foam of the tides. O lips that the live blood faints in, the leavings of racks and rods! O ghastly glories of saints, dead limbs of gibbeted Gods! Though all men abase them before you in spirit, and all knees bend, I kneel not neither adore you, but standing, look to the end. All delicate days and pleasant, all spirits and sorrows are cast Far out with the foam of the present that sweeps to the surf of the past: Where beyond the extreme sea-wall, and between the remote sea-gates, Waste water washes, and tall ships founder, and deep death waits: Where, mighty with deepening sides, clad about with the seas as with wings, And impelled of invisible tides, and fulfilled of unspeakable things, White-eyed and poisonous-finned, shark-toothed and serpentine-curled, Rolls, under the whitening wind of the future, the wave of the world. The depths stand naked in sunder behind it, the storms flee away; In the hollow before it the thunder is taken and snared as a prey; In its sides is the north-wind bound; and its salt is of all men's tears; With light of ruin, and sound of changes, and pulse of years: With travail of day after day, and with trouble of hour upon hour; And bitter as blood is the spray; and the crests are as fangs that devour: And its vapour and storm of its steam as the sighing of spirits to be; And its noise as the noise in a dream; and its depth as the roots of the sea: And the height of its heads as the height of the utmost stars of the air: And the ends of the earth at the might thereof tremble, and time is made bare. Will ye bridle the deep sea with reins, will ye chasten the high sea with rods? Will ye take her to chain her with chains, who is older than all ye Gods? All ye as a wind shall go by, as a fire shall ye pass and be past; Ye are Gods, and behold, ye shall die, and the waves be upon you at last. In the darkness of time, in the deeps of the years, in the changes of things, Ye shall sleep as a slain man sleeps, and the world shall forget you for kings. Though the feet of thine high priests tread where thy lords and our forefathers trod, Though these that were Gods are dead, and thou being dead art a God, Though before thee the throned Cytherean be fallen, and hidden her head, Yet thy kingdom shall pass, Galilean, thy dead shall go down to thee dead. Of the maiden thy mother men sing as a goddess with grace clad around; Thou art throned where another was king; where another was queen she is crowned. Yea, once we had sight of another: but now she is queen, say these. Not as thine, not as thine was our mother, a blossom of flowering seas, Clothed round with the world's desire as with raiment, and fair as the foam, And fleeter than kindled fire, and a goddess, and mother of Rome. For thine came pale and a maiden, and sister to sorrow; but ours, Her deep hair heavily laden with odour and colour of flowers, White rose of the rose-white water, a silver splendour, a flame, Bent down unto us that besought her, and earth grew sweet with her name. For thine came weeping, a slave among slaves, and rejected; but she Came flushed from the full-flushed wave, and imperial, her foot on the sea. And the wonderful waters knew her, the winds and the viewless ways, And the roses grew rosier, and bluer the sea-blue stream of the bays. Ye are fallen, our lords, by what token? we wise that ye should not fall. Ye were all so fair that are broken; and one more fair than ye all. But I turn to her still, having seen she shall surely abide in the end; Goddess and maiden and queen, be near me now and befriend. O daughter of earth, of my mother, her crown and blossom of birth, I am also, I also, thy brother; I go as I came unto earth. In the night where thine eyes are as moons are in heaven, the night where thou art, Where the silence is more than all tunes, where sleep overflows from the heart, Where the poppies are sweet as the rose in our world, and the red rose is white, And the wind falls faint as it blows with the fume of the flowers of the night, And the murmur of spirits that sleep in the shadow of Gods from afar Grows dim in thine ears and deep as the deep dim soul of a star, In the sweet low light of thy face, under heavens untrod by the sun, Let my soul with their souls find place, and forget what is done and undone. Thou art more than the Gods who number the days of our temporal breath; Let these give labour and slumber; but thou, Proserpina, death. Therefore now at thy feet I abide for a season in silence. I know I shall die as my fathers died, and sleep as they sleep; even so. For the glass of the years is brittle wherein we gaze for a span; A little soul for a little bears up this corpse which is man. So long I endure, no longer; and laugh not again, neither weep. For there is no God found stronger than death; and death is a sleep.
Our perception of time and space is arbitrary and inherently meaningless. It’s like the xy-grid we used in school. It’s useful for talking about the information dotted on it, but on its own is meaningless – it's just there. The information dotted on the grid would always be, regardless of the xy-grid.
Mass multicultural immigration is a highly disruptive, if not destructive, event to an established, stable culture. These things used to be called invasions because, even without force of arms, the power of masses of unwanted people can be difficult to resist (see Mexico/US).
Regular people know that mass immigration will assimilate with difficulty, even if they want to. Regular people know that they will not value or respect their history, their legacies, their traditions, as they do. This is why regular people do not welcome mass multicultural invasions.
For us ordinary people, it's much more about preserving a culture and a neighborhood than it is about economics.
... the centuries-long belief that all peoples everywhere are embryonic Westerners should have been shattered by the slaughter in Manhattan and at the Pentagon. The attacks were a horrifically graphic reminder that our core ideals––human rights, sex equality, tolerance of difference, peaceful coexistence, personal and political freedom, material prosperity, the separation of church and state, free speech, and consensual government founded on law––were historical anomalies rather than the destiny of all humanity.
Now on 83 acres with some imperfectly-maintained gardens, the place has little use. It would make a fine campus. We had dinner with friends last night who love to explore the more obscure corners of NYC. They found the place to be fascinating, but Staten Island itself not so much.
Despite countless cuts, slashes, and penetrations of my feet over the years from broken shells, stones, sharp twigs, coral, etc., I have always resisted water shoes. After my last visit to the beach in 2014, Mrs. BD sent me to the store to get some.
They are excellent. You can swim in them, and they protect you from burning-hot sand too. Now I will not go to a beach without them.
Another good use of them is exploring shallow waters for critters and things at low tide. No more slipping on rocks or getting a toe sliced by a sharp oyster shell. They might look a little pussified, but they can keep you functional. I also use them for kayaking.
Social science was — it is best to speak in the past tense — a mistake. The dream of a comprehensive science of society, which would elucidate “laws of history” or “social laws” comparable to the physical determinants or “laws” of nature, was one of the great delusions of the 19th century. Auguste Comte formulated a Religion of Humanity based on “the positive philosophy” or Positivism. Karl Marx went to his grave convinced that his discovery of laws of history had made him the Darwin or Newton of social science.
Positivism mercifully had little political influence, except in 19th-century Brazil, to which it contributed the national motto “Order and Progress.” In the 20th century Marxism split between a revisionist branch which became indistinguishable from welfare-state capitalism and communist totalitarianism, which survives in pure form today only in North Korea, and from the devastating effects of which Russia, China, Eastern Europe, Cuba, Vietnam and other countries are slowly recovering.
By the mid-20th century, the utopian fervor that had inspired earlier attempts at comprehensive sciences of society had burned out...
Private industry employers spent an average of $31.39 per hour worked for employee compensation in
June 2015, the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics reported today. Wages and salaries averaged $21.82 per
hour worked and accounted for 69.5 percent of these costs, while benefits averaged $9.56 and accounted
for the remaining 30.5 percent. Total compensation costs for state and local government workers
averaged $44.22 per hour worked in June 2015. Total compensation costs for civilian workers, which
include private industry and state and local government workers, averaged $33.19 per hour worked in
June 2015.
Employees of Federal Contractors to Get Paid Sick Leave " 'Contractors should take note that this requirement
does not take effect immediately and is not self-implementing. It takes effect
in 2017 and only after the Department of Labor issues rules,' [said Shlomo Katz,
a government contracts lawyer at Brown Rudnick].... 'The executive order
requires covered contractors to provide sick leave in addition to vacation and
other fringe benefits already required by the Service Contract Act and Davis
Bacon Act,' Katz added. 'Some will argue that the President is exceeding his
authority by mandating sick leave because Congress has already legislated via
those two laws (SCA and Davis-Bacon) that government contractors provide
'prevailing' fringe benefits to workers, and there is no indication that the
President has done any studies to determine that sick leave is a "prevailing"
fringe benefit.' " (Bloomberg BNA)
The Congressional Budget Office (CBO) just reported that President Obama has already effectively raised the minimum wage.
How so? The Obamacare employer mandate requires employers that do not provide “qualifying” health benefits to pay a steep penalty. Few minimum-wage employers provide Obamacare-compliant health coverage. So the penalty adds to their cost of hiring—and thus reduces employment. As the CBO puts it:
[S]ome employers will respond to the penalty by hiring fewer people at or just above the minimum wage—an effect that would be similar to the impact of raising the minimum wage for those companies’ employees.
Increasing the minimum wage would have two principal effects on low-wage workers. Most of them would receive higher pay that would increase their family’s income, and some of those families would see their income rise above the federal poverty threshold. But some jobs for low-wage workers would probably be eliminated, the income of most workers who became jobless would fall substantially, and the share of low-wage workers who were employed would probably fall slightly.
Peaches ripen late up here in New England. Yes, there are peach varieties which thrive in the North.
Like many really dumb ideas, this one started in San Francisco. In 2007, San Francisco
The Jewish High Holy Days, the Days of Awe or the Days of Repentance as they are often called, begins tonight with Rosh Hashanah and ends in ten days with Yom Kippur. Compared to other Jewish holidays full of joy and laughs, these are somber days during which our deeds are weighed and our fate sealed for the coming year. G-d weighs our measure in fulfilling our responsibilities to G-d. Others weigh our measure in how we behave to them, and for those we have harmed will our confessions to them, our entreaties for forgiveness, and demonstrations of living better be considered real. Words alone are far from enough. Our actions are necessary in how we live.
- Took a drive yesterday to 
Image via 
Man, I love them. Will make some this week. Just need to pick up 
6 Tiny Cavers, 15 Odd Skeletons, and 1 Amazing New Species of Ancient Human - 
Photo: My entry wall yesterday morning. I asked him to come back on Thanksgiving.
Despite countless cuts, slashes, and penetrations of my feet over the years from broken shells, stones, sharp twigs, coral, etc., I have always resisted water shoes. After my last visit to the beach in 2014, Mrs. BD sent me to the store to get some.