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.
Lots of things drive men, but few are as powerful as the animal instincts which create the attraction between a man and a woman. Many times I've uttered the phrase "Yeah, she's hot" with other buddies of mine. But I've never stopped to consider the differentiation between 'hot' and 'pretty'. Hot is an attraction, a magnet and promotes a desire which is usually more salacious than meaningful. Pretty is also an attraction, but requires thought and consideration. Pretty has lasting qualities. Hot can be fleeting.
I thought this article, forwarded to me by a female friend, was a terrific summation of the difference. I differ from the author in that I'm all for 'hotness' at the right time and place, and in limited doses. Hotness shouldn't be the only selling point. One of the problems of hotness is that it can be too easily revealed to be a charade.
One benefit of pretty is that it can be made to appear hot (as the Olivia Newton-John example points out). It can be stepped back, if necessary. Sometimes, however, hotness is just a veil and we are going to be disappointed with what's really there. The Legends of Micronesia often utilize themes of this sort, people, ghosts and gods who improve their appearance to entice people and promote a disastrous end.
...charity and compassion are always the actions of autonomous people acting as individuals. And, however much intellectuals try to argue otherwise, socialism in the end has to trade on envy and resentment, just as surely as tentative lovers discover that they cannot after all confine themselves to just holding hands, or a stolen kiss. Soon enough people are taken to be good or kindly only if they espouse the correct socialist opinions - we see this all around us in the present age - and human sympathy gets redefined in doctrinal terms.
Yet although left-wing assumptions have captured the intellectual elites of the western world - the humanities are almost dead - they have had limited impact on older people untouched by the bureaucratic and academic caste.
In my little old conservative Connecticut town, people help eachother every day. In fact, we do everything we can to assist eachother. The beauty of collectivism, charity, mutual help, etc. lies in its voluntariness, its mutuality, and in its local-ness. When there are guns and jails behind it (as via government), all of the beauty and love are lost and it just devolves into political power and into legal, armed plunder.
Infantile utopian dreams, in real life, quickly turn into real nightmares. They scare the heck out of me.
After all, there is no doubt that eating less does keep one's body younger, more sexual, and more vigorous, and, as with sleep, the older you get the less food you need. For women, there is a definite connection between weight, insulin-resistance, and breast cancer too.
Works for me. I have not finished a meal in a restaurant for 20 years, and I never would. We prosperous, overweight Americans probably need to re-learn when enough is enough, to re-learn to identify the inborn sensation of satiety if we wish to be fit, strong, and light on our feet. Tasty and abundant food is wonderful, but we need very little of it to remain healthy unless we spend the day digging ditches with shovels.
Carbs? I only touch them on weekends, and in small amounts even if we do daily work-outs and plenty of recreational sports. No, I am far from being anorectic, but I will never leave my muscular Size 6 Tall.
It's not all that much about grim "self-control" as it is about identifying the point at which hunger is alleviated. It doesn't take much food to do that. Unless you're a growing kid, amazingly little. A small handful of almonds or olives will do it. The best, tastiest restaurants serve the tiniest portions for good reason. You pay for the flavor and the quality, not for volume.
In the Western world, and increasingly everywhere on earth, prosperity and food abundance make it possible for every day to become a secular Feast Day of some sort, making the sensation of satiety fade into the background. Still, being able to identify satiety is a more general theme, whether in possessions, substances, money, love, food, etc. I should expand on the topic here, someday. Not at Christmastime, though, when saturnalian greed and self-indulgence were somehow added to the Roman Mass and Feast Day of the Nativity of Christ. I blame those three wise men for that, even though I'm sure they meant well.
In the end, I believe that what we are insatiable for, if we feel insatiable, is for relationship with God. We displace that hunger elsewhere, into the fun and easy stuff. I guess it's all good, but not great.
What a seemingly-simple poem it is. A prayer, really. The sly Robert Frost claimed he wrote it in one minute, but anything that simple usually takes a long time to get right.
Winter solstice, the longest night of the year in these here parts. Julius Caesar placed it on December 25 (for the convenience of Santa and his reindeer, of course), but it's more accurately placed today. Sad to say, the US climate has been getting colder in recent years. Call it "climate change" and spend a lot of time worrying about it (remember - not using plastic grocery bags will make a really, realy big difference in making it colderwarmer whatever).
It's not mid-winter for a month or so, but just the beginning of what we hope will be another invigoratingly chilly and snowy one:
If you haven't heard about Congress' latest push to regulate the Internet, here's a primer:
My feeling is that either SOPA (the House version) or Protect IP (the Senate version) will pass. More info here and here, and if you're looking for a specific reason why they're doing this — outside of the usual power, ignorance and control — check out who's #4 on this list.
Ever since the signing of the Oslo Accords in 1993, Americans and Israelis who were trying to make peace in the Middle East have had one insoluble problem: how to explain the fact that Palestinian leaders say one thing to the Western media and quite another to their own people in Arabic.
My NYC daughter's Yorkie pup is three months old. (That white thing is a Christmas hair bow.) Pees on the floor, gets up on her hind legs to challenge our big dog - gets right in his face. Sort-of does "Sit" and "Stay" thus far, but not really "Come" or "heel."
I visit Cafe Hayek regularly, though missed the past few days. I was shocked to see today that the Comments section had been closed. I had commented on a few topics there over the years, but generally avoided it because it frequently becomes a quagmire. In fact, I noticed this recently when I'd posed a question, only to find myself under attack for asking any questions that didn't agree 100% with the authors.
Strange thing is, the question I'd posed was a request for clarity by posing an example, not a statement of opposing viewpoint. Suddenly, however, I became a "two-bit moron" and an "uninformed boob". I'll cop to being both, though I think using these terms on people you're exchanging views with, in a somewhat public forum, is rude.
It's unfortunate the professors found the need to shut down their comments. Commenting on articles is a fine balance, not unlike sending emails. You can't properly convey emotion, and as a result sometimes meanings are misunderstood. Typically I try to employ the same courtesies I utilize in real life. I refrain from name-calling and will restate a point, if necessary, to add clarity. On comments (unlike email), you can't always pick up the phone and say "no, that's not what I meant".
I'm happy that I've never seen a comment thread on Maggie's become a name-calling mess. There have been plenty of disagreements, and that's healthy. But when you stop respecting others, you stop respecting the process.
Tax the heck out of the 1% to reduce inequality? As a person happy to be in the 1%, albeit in the lowest reaches of it, I wonder how many people would simply decide that working doesn't pay? When 50% of your income is taken, are you really still working for yourself and your family? Or are you simply subsidizing political campaigns?
I suppose the Tiger Woods could retire for the year after winning a single golf tournament. Brad Pitt could make half-a-movie.
Or Derek Jeter could play in four games. In Canada, doctors have income caps but lawyers and accountants do not. Docs quit working for the year when they hit them, and open other businesses on the side. I have heard that wine shops are popular with them.
I see that the economics-challenged Charles Blow is on the same trail, agonizing over the data that most Americans are neither particularly envious of, or angry with, the prosperous. He also wants to tax the heck out of the prosperous, not for the cash, but for fairness. It would be more fair to lobotomize the rich. Why not?
Well, The Voices of Ascension sang a bunch of Renaissance motets, and some Christmas carols too, in front of the Met Museum's Neapolitan Christmas tree last night. It was a sold out crowd, of course. We had the whole darn museum just to ourselves, too. Remarkable.
A 24-person a capella choir can sound just like an organ. There is nothing better. Anchoress would love this. They did Lauridsen's Magnum Mysterium of course but not the great Palestrina's Sicut Cervus, which is one thing by The Voices which I could find on YouTube:
Here's King's College choir doing Lauridsen's transcendent version of Magnum Mysterium:
The words of Magnum Mysterium:
Latin text
O magnum mysterium,
et admirabile sacramentum,
ut animalia viderent Dominum natum,
jacentem in praesepio!
Beata Virgo, cujus viscera
meruerunt portare
Dominum Christum.
Alleluia.
English translation
O great mystery,
and wonderful sacrament,
that animals should see the new-born Lord,
lying in a manger!
Blessed is the Virgin whose womb
was worthy to bear
Christ the Lord.
Alleluia!
A motet can be almost any compact choral work with complicated interactions of voices. The Voices of Ascension are the world-famous choir of the Church of the Ascension on Fifth Ave and 10th. Not amateurs!
No pics of them allowed, but I did snap a few at the museum:
Ever seen the TV show? I hadn't, but a chef friend who loves the show advised me to check out the YouTubes. It is entertaining and educational. Chef Gordon Ramsey goes into messed-up restaurants and advises them on how to improve.
You'll never want to go to a mid-range restaurant again to eat their thawed crap. Plenty of Ramsey's job seems to be family therapy. It's a study of excuses, blaming, and scapegoating. The family interactions in the Italian restaurants are hilariously hostile. A sample (lots more fun ones on YouTube):
I recently posted about the desirability of attrition in colleges due to substandard performance, expressing the view that low graduation rates are a good, not bad thing, and that they lend some credibility to an expensive piece of paper.
Competitive and highly-selective graduate schools, however, probably should have lower attrition rates as their standards for entry are so relatively high.
...what if you are afraid to control your own destiny? What if you have such low self-confidence that you believe it isn’t worth it to even try, that a Steve Jobs is the exception rather than the rule?
Think of the ingredients that make for a good school. Small classes. Well-educated teachers. Plenty of funding. Combine, mix well, then bake.
Turns out, your recipe would be horribly wrong, at least according to a new working paper out of Harvard. Its take away: Schools shouldn't focus on resources. They should focus on culture.
Read the whole thing. Schools aren't about money. Excellent education is inexpensive, except for technical levels of science. All it takes is a heated room, a blackboard, a demanding and interested teacher, and some curious kids.
Here's how we keep it simple and organized in the BD household: We store the Christmas stuff in chests of drawers in the living room. Nothing to lug up and down, no boxes, etc.
Another good trick: throw your tree lights in the garbage, and buy new ones each year. Something strange happens to them during a year's storage. Not really worth saving, between the untangling and the dead bulbs.
Our pal Gwynnie makes it even simpler: he has his fake tree pre-wired, and just drags it up from the basement. I am not ready for that level of decadence. Sheesh. Why not just keep the ornaments on it too, and lower it on a wire from a niche in the attic, then spray Balsam fragrance on it? Just email me, Gwynnie, and I'll give you a hand. I like Christmas trees.
We had our family Christmas last night. The kids will be away, all over the planet (Vietnam then Czecho, Birmingham Alabama, etc) on the 25th. We had Lobster hors d'oevres, Butternut Squash soup with my special herb and parmesan crouton on top, Italian pork loin with bay in wine vinegar, roast taters, beets, Brussel Sprouts in oil, and Christmas Tree Cake plus a mountain of Italian pastries ("Don't forget the cannolis"). All with either champagne, or Martinelli's for the teetotalers.
We're planning our little neighborhood Christmas Eve light supper before church, as we always do. Cocktails and Eggnog, poached salmon with dill and yoghurt sauce - then run off to church to sing carols. Nice. I have always felt that Christmas Eve with family, neighbors, and friends is more special than Christmas day. It's like anticipation of a birth. However, with Christmas on Sunday this year, I think we'll go to church then too. Why not? Church always does me good.
Off to the Big City now for a first delivered Christmas present - The Voices of Ascension at the Metropolitan Museum with dinner after with my in-laws (we focus on events and experiences - not stuff - for Christmas treats. Feeding the soul is how I think of these things.)
I buy no things, or almost none. Cool experiences last forever, but stuff is just stuff that takes up space, and I have enuf guns and neckties.) Man, did I get some good, fun tix for this holiday season including some Met Museum Christmas singing tix, some Met Opera Butterfly tix, ballet and dance tix, etc. for the kiddies. There is nothing better than dinner and tix in NYC for memorable Christmas season treats. No NYCB Nutcracker - seen that enough times. Once is wonderful but, like magic, once is enough. OK, maybe twice. Nobody does it better...
Pic is a relaxed Christmas Dog. I need to get a good pic of the BD daughter's pup too. We always pretend to detest tiny dogs, but you cannot help but love them once you meet and get to know them. These little things just crack you up. I just worry that my pup will bite its head off in playfulness.
It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings. Tough to find a 15 year-old Butterfly, so they don't even try:
The reason to link that bit of trivia is to reflect on how these sorts of things would have been handled by the MSM in the Bush admin. Bush, on his vacations, went to his dusty ranch and labored. A Texan with his family's Yankee genes and habits.
1:26 In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth,
1:27 to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin's name was Mary.
1:28 And he came to her and said, "Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you."
1:29 But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.
1:30 The angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.
1:31 And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus.
1:32 He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David.
1:33 He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end."
1:34 Mary said to the angel, "How can this be, since I am a virgin?"
1:35 The angel said to her, "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God.
1:36 And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren.
1:37 For nothing will be impossible with God."
1:38 Then Mary said, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word." Then the angel departed from her.
Dominican Brother "Angelico" spent more of his career in the Dominican Friary of San Marco in Fiesole (just outside Florence).
That old friary is now a convent. You can visit the chapel just by hopping off the Firenze to Fiesole bus at the tobacco shop on the corner, which is what we did. We were the only people there. In fact, we had to bang on the door to get somebody to come and unlock the chapel for us. We like staying in the Fiesole hills and busing down to town, just like Lorenzo di Medici used to do on his Vespa.
It's better to look at art in situ than in museums. Fra Angelico's Nativity, in that chapel:
Lots of things drive men, but few are as powerful as the animal instincts which create the attraction between a man and a woman. Many times I've uttered the phrase "Yeah, she's hot" with other buddies of mine. But I've never stopped to consider the differentiation between 'hot' and 'pretty'. Hot is an attraction, a magnet and promotes a desire which is usually more salacious than meaningful. Pretty is also an attraction, but requires thought and consideration. Pretty has lasting qualities. Hot can be fleeting.
Stuck in Ohio with the Memphis blues? 
A rambling and interesting essay by David Wemyss: 
You have to be skeptical about any report, but 
Why you 
From MIT:
Here's how we keep it simple and organized in the BD household: We store the Christmas stuff in chests of drawers in the living room. Nothing to lug up and down, no boxes, etc.
Reader informed us that 
