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.
Blake was one of a kind. He completed his formal education at age 10 and became an engraver. However, later he attended the Royal Academy of Art for a while. Contemporaries thought he was mad. He had a wonderful life.
Audubon had a great time in the USA. A hero of mine. He was a fine diarist too. He also became a heck of a shot. What many do not know is that one reason his bird images are often in awkward positions is that he generally painted them from specimens he had shot.
As an aside, Roger Tory Peterson's prints are excellent too. Audubon was, of course, an inspiration to him. No dead birds.
I know that few of our fitness buff readers follow the Maggie's excellent fitness protocol, but that's fine. Whatever makes ya miserable and stressed while doing, but glad you did afterwards.
(Readers know, ad nauseum, that we recommend 2 days of heavy weights, 2 days of pure cardio, 2 days of calisthenics, and a day of some recreational sports or hiking, etc. We feel road-running is hell on joints.)
Gotta move, every day, with effort. Alternative is decay. Just our opinion, though.
My "cardio"- dedicated days (about 2-2 1/2 hrs/wk) include random mixtures of HIIT and "long, slow" recovery. To avoid boredom, I mix it up a lot with elliptical, treadmill runs, jump rope, rower sprints, stair machine, etc. The episodic intensity is what makes it all time-effective. I do not swim because pools gross me out.
( For an unnecessary reminder, Cardio means stressing the heck out of heart muscle, enough to force it to strengthen, to grow new blood vessels, and thus to increase vigor and to help survive the first heart attack. Also for general endurance.)
Anyway, I'm interested in knowing what readers do for the pure cardio component of their fitness efforts.
Pic from of MAGA Caffeteria from my urban hike around Ostia outside Rome.
"Ostia" is the mouth, the area of the old Roman port. About 25 minutes from the airport, 20 by ambulance.
No foreigners visit Ostia. It's a Roman middle-class and working-class suburb south of Rome on one of the commuter trains. Its 3 miles of beach on the Med (The Lido) attract less-wealthy Romans in summer for beach getaways. It has a half-mile of spartan hotels, one of which I stayed in (Hotel Bellavista) for 5 days while Mrs. BD was in Ospidale Grassi about a 30-minute walk from my hotel. No fluffy towels.
This was an accidental visit by this accidental tourist. (Mrs. BD fainted on the plane to Rome - face plant - and fractured some facial bones. Dangerous to her eye, and she looked by post-car crash.) While stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues, I did spend one day hiking Ostia and getting lost and hiking the beach with my trousers rolled up like T S Eliot, took the train to Rome to urban hike one day, took train to Ostia Antica (do not miss that visit when near Rome) and had a wonderful day there until it closed.
So before I post some photos of Ostia Antica later (a truly magnificent ruin of a Roman port city, just 3 train stops from Ostia, an hour from Rome) I thought I'd post some fun observations about some aspects of the real, non-tourist Italy. Remember, Rome is sort-of on the edge of northern and southern Italy, and a blend of both cultures but more southern than northern. I've been to Rome several times. Once is enuf in my view. Fun stuff below the fold (BTW, Mrs. BD is just fine now)
When you sit in the blind awaiting the flight Of the white-breasted northern sprig, While they circle high and think to light, And they look so close and big, You whisper your pard, as you both crouch low, Now! Don't wait too long! You shoot too far and off they go; Whatever you do is wrong!
Then you curse yourself for a fool greenhorn, Your pride has had a blow; Sullen you sit and smoke and mourn, When in comes a bunch, fair low! You watch them circle round and round, Just let them work along! When off they swing, southward bound; Whatever you do is wrong!
And so, through life, a poor wretch tries To do what he thinks is right, To place his funds so that when he dies His family'll be sitting tight; To raise the young with the best in mind, And sometimes it works like a song, But often he finds like the man in the blind, Whatever you do is wrong!
Still, I think that the God who sits in His sky, And watches each man in his blind, When it comes time for the hunter to die, Surely, He'll keep in mind That each tried to do what it seemed he ought, And He'll put us where we belong; For He'll understand the fellow that thought Whatever he did was wrong!
"[M]y duty as a songwriter is not to try to save the world, but rather to save the soul of the world. This requires me to live my life on the other side of truth, beyond conviction and within uncertainty, where things make less sense, absurdity is a virtue and art rages and burns; where dogma is anathema, discourse is essential, doubt is an energy, magical thinking is not a crime and where possibility and potentiality rule."
Tautog is a popular fish for recreational fishers - not really a sporty fish but a dining fish. It's no surprise that they are tasty because they live on molluscs and crustaceans. These guys (they are a Wrasse) live mainly from Cape Cod to Chesapeake Bay.
There's a limited keeping season for them: April, and then mid-Oct to mid November.
They are bottom-feeders, partial to rocky bottoms, underwater structure. Green crabs and clams are the best bait.
Tautog (Tautoga onitis), also known as blackfish, have a lifestyle that promotes a long life: they eat crabs and shellfish, sleep all winter, and in the summer they rest every night and have sex every day.
Not a bad life. In youth, I would catch a few off the wreck outside Wellfleet Harbor. The one in the photo is huge, probably should be tossed back to breed but you can tell from that gal's face that she wants to eat it.
I am certain I was the oldest guy in our morning Athletic Conditioning class early this morning. Somebody has to be eldest but I am not elderly. Anyway, we did it in the parking lot, 36 guys and gals of all ages and all levels of fitness. At this point, I keep up with most of the gals but not all the guys, many of whom can sprint past me, especially the high school kids. That sucks for me but I have determination.
The thing is that everybody sort-of bonds in these classes in their efforts, like boot camp. Everybody makes it fun and cheers on each other, even the laggards.
I had two thoughts about today's exercise party. First, calisthenic-type exercise is much more fun in groups. Everybody works harder, not competitively but inspirationally. Second, avoiding groups and social isolation truly do make people insane in a way by providing no societal reality testing. Or maybe people isolate to protect their personal insanity from outside reality checks. You have to learn where you stand, and how you connect. That thought was from one of Peterson's sentences, but I saw that even something like an exercise class is a social and socially-correcting event.
Actor/impressionist Jim Meskimen (Parks & Recreation, Whose Line?, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel) recites "Pity the Poor Impressionist" poem in 20 celebrity voices, with the help of SHAM00K.
"[S]ingling out Trump for the turmoil engulfing the country is possible only if you disregard the No. 1 contributor: the refusal of Democrats and most of the media to accept the results of the 2016 election...."