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.
On your first visit, you have to stop by all of the main tourist destinations and see double late at night on the Spanish Steps. Vatican, all that. It's required. Generally-speaking, I do not think much of Rome itself as a city to visit, but I feel the same way about Venice so ignore me if you want to.
However, the best thing to do in Rome is to take a tour of Ostia - Ostia Antica. It far surpasses Herculaneum and Pompeii as a preserved Roman urban site. It's the old port of Rome, the ancient harbor which silted up but was never destroyed. A stroll around there will make you realize that the Romans lived quite similarly to the way Americans live today.
Central heat, fast food, running water, sanitary toilets, shopping areas, multi-story apartment buildings, whorehouses, gambling dens, paved streets, warehouses, factories, etc. They did not wear togas, either - except the senators and their ilk. They did not have tomatoes.
Where are you tonight? (Journey Through Black Heat), 1978
There’s a long-distance train rolling through the rain Tears on the letter I write There’s a woman I long to touch and I miss her so much But she’s drifting like a satellite
There’s a neon light ablaze in this green smoky haze Laughter down on Elizabeth Street And a lonesome bell tone in that valley of stone Where she bathed in a stream of pure heat
Her father would emphasize you got to be more than streetwise But he practiced what he preached from the heart A full-blooded Cherokee, he predicted to me The time and the place that the trouble would start
There’s a babe in the arms of a woman in a rage And a longtime golden-haired stripper onstage And she winds back the clock and she turns back the page Of a book that no one can write Oh, where are you tonight?
The truth was obscure, too profound and too pure To live it you have to explode In that last hour of need, we entirely agreed Sacrifice was the code of the road
I left town at dawn, with Marcel and St. John Strong men belittled by doubt I couldn’t tell her what my private thoughts were But she had some way of finding them out
He took dead-center aim but he missed just the same She was waiting, putting flowers on the shelf She could feel my despair as I climbed up her hair And discovered her invisible self
There’s a lion in the road, there’s a demon escaped There’s a million dreams gone, there’s a landscape being raped As her beauty fades and I watch her undrape I won’t but then again, maybe I might Oh, if I could just find you tonight
I fought with my twin, that enemy within ’Til both of us fell by the way Horseplay and disease is killing me by degrees While the law looks the other way
Your partners in crime hit me up for nickels and dimes The guy you were lovin’ couldn’t stay clean It felt outa place, my foot in his face But he should-a stayed where his money was green
I bit into the root of forbidden fruit With the juice running down my leg Then I dealt with your boss, who’d never known about loss And who always was too proud to beg
There’s a white diamond gloom on the dark side of this room And a pathway that leads up to the stars If you don’t believe there’s a price for this sweet paradise Remind me to show you the scars
There’s a new day at dawn and I’ve finally arrived If I’m there in the morning, baby, you’ll know I’ve survived I can’t believe it, I can’t believe I’m alive But without you it just doesn’t seem right Oh, where are you tonight?
Jan, Sue and Mary haven't seen each other since High School. They rediscover each other via a reunion website and arrange to meet for lunch in a wine bar.
Jan arrives first, wearing beige Versace. She orders a bottle of Pinot Grigio.
Sue arrives shortly afterward, in gray Chanel. After the required ritualized kisses she joins Jan in a glass of wine.
Then Mary walks in, wearing a faded old tee-shirt, blue jeans and boots. She too shares the wine.
Jan explains that after leaving high school and graduating from Princeton in Classics, she met and married Timothy, with whom she has a beautiful daughter. Timothy is a partner in one of New York's leading law firms. They live in a 4000 sq ft co-op on Fifth Avenue, where Susanna, the daughter, attends drama school. They have a second home in Phoenix .
Sue relates that she graduated from Harvard Med School and became a surgeon. Her husband, Clive, is a leading Wall Street investment banker. They summer in Southampton on Long Island and have a third home in Naples, Florida.
Mary explains that she left school at 17 and ran off with her boyfriend, Jim. They run a tropical bird park in Colorado and grow their own vegetables. Jim can stand five parrots, side by side, on his dick.
Halfway down the third bottle of wine and several hours later, Jan blurts out that her husband is really a cashier at WalMart. They live in a small apartment in Brooklyn and have a travel trailer parked at a nearby storage facility.
Sue, chastened and encouraged by her old friend's honesty, explains that she and Clive are both nurses' aides in a retirement home. They live in Jersey City and take vacation trips to Alabama and Virginia, usually camping.
Mary admits that the fifth parrot has to stand on one leg.
At the hunting lodge. You can't have too many sheds. The fishing stuff is for Walleye: fried up in a beer batter, there is nothing better. I suspect that this log building began life as a cabin. Now it is a high-tech (ie temporary electric provided by a Caterpillar generator on a trailer) outboard engine storage and repair facility:
Gee, I still like those foods. And coffee jello with Miracle Whip. Good stuff. For the few Americans who still cook dinner at home (a rapidly-shrinking number partly because of the rise of women with day jobs), what they are fixing is more international and more sophisticated than 30 or 40 years ago.
As she notes, over the past 50 years food in the US has taken up a diminishing proportion of the family budget. Thus the boom in prepared food, fast food take-out, and restaurants in general. McArdle: The Economics Behind Grandma's Tuna Casseroles:
We were the sort of people who did our grocery shopping like a trade caravan moving from oasis to oasis. You started, perhaps, at Fairway Market in the 70s, for produce, and then you moved methodically up Broadway from point to point: Bruno’s for fresh pasta, Citarella for meat, Zabar’s for cheese and deli sundries, H&H for bagels, the Korean vegetable market on the corner for staples you might have forgotten to grab at some earlier stop. Then you cooked. Unless it was her busy season (my mother sold real estate when she was not simmering blanquette de veau), we had a fresh cooked meal from scratch every night.
If this sounds unbearably precious, it wasn’t, because the great blessing of my life is that my mother did not let me become a food snob.
Head (Botox, hair-do and coloring) Shoulders (planks and pull-ups at the gym) Eyes (where are my glasses?) Ears (what?) Mouth (implants and periodontist) Nose (basal cell excisions) Knees (injections) Toes (pedicures, bunion surgery, Stuart Weitzmans)
Our popular Maggie's Classic Mommys of America Comfort Suppers series reminds me to do a series on classic old-timey Mommy's Desserts. Most Moms today don't make dessert except for special occasions, but it was a nice touch and popular with the kids.
Furthermore, growing and physically-active kids need sweet and sugary treats - for health, energy, and peace of mind - and to feel the love.
Moms never used to buy desserts. People lived on strict budgets, and only the prosperous went to restaurants other than the hot dog stand, which was fast food. People raised in the Depression, or raised during WW2 or the 1950s and 60s, did not buy stuff, and a linen-napkin restaurant was very special, unlike today. They got off their butts and made stuff - even my Mom with 5 kids. I remember some my favorites:
Coffee Jello with Jiffy-Whip (that's how I learned to love coffee in my youth)
Apple Pan Dowdy or whatever version of that sort of apple thing
Blueberry Cake with Hard Sauce (she'd only make it if we picked the wild berries at the Farm)
Yellow Cake (from the box) with Mocha frosting for birthdays. Mom never bought a cake in her life (except for the annual Buche de Noel)
Indian Pudding for winter holidays, with ice cream or whipped
Bread Pudding +/- rum, and English-style custard or rum sauce on top
Apple Pie, from our apple trees, with ice cream.
Cherry pie, from my great-aunt's amazingly-productive cherry tree.
Home-made vanilla ice cream, hand-cranked machine. Sometimes, with home-made chocolate sauce, sometimes with rhubarb sauce, sometimes with butterscotch stuff out of a can or bottle.
Peach Melba, with canned peaches
Trifle with rum- or wine-soaked pound cake - for special parties
Strawberry Shortcake, made with Bisquick
Chocolate Chip Cookies
Brownies, occasionally with ice cream on top
Rice Pudding with raisins. Might be good with dried cranberries too.
Root Beer or Sarsaparilla Floats in hot weather
I'll get to work on an Official Mommy's of America dessert post, but only if you tell me what some of your favorite Mommys of America home-made desserts were. Since we are read all around the world, the whole world will appreciate, and benefit from, our homey memories.
Either of these tomes is great fun to read, and all chefs use one or the other as foundation for recipes and technique. There is a lot to learn. Chefs know everything, but cooks know how to make it. Chef is architect/engineer, cook is carpenter.
We finally made it to the Picasso sculpture show at MOMA this weekend with old friends. As I expected, it was a visual feast. Furthermore, it was more fun and less tiring than spending an hour and a half looking a paintings.
He experimented with sculpture intermittently during his life, beginning with realism and moving through all of his stylistic phases: cubism, surrealism, etc., and just plain whimsical but all with what I term the Picasso Perfect Eye because I have never found the right words for his transformative genius, making the ordinary into something entirely new and startling with great discipline and economy of line.
The Uberization of Money - The familiar middlemen of 20th-century banking and investing are giving way to something very
different. Are we ready for the opportunities—and the risks?
4 am, relaxing in the Maggie's HQ while Bird Dog has his pre-workout coffees and ceegar. Nobody's perfect, but Man can not live without loyal dog who overlooks all human flaws.
12:28 One of the scribes came near and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well, he asked him, "Which commandment is the first of all?"
12:29 Jesus answered, "The first is, 'Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one;
12:30 you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.'
12:31 The second is this, 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no other commandment greater than these."
12:32 Then the scribe said to him, "You are right, Teacher; you have truly said that 'he is one, and besides him there is no other';
12:33 and 'to love him with all the heart, and with all the understanding, and with all the strength,' and 'to love one's neighbor as oneself,' --this is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices."
12:34 When Jesus saw that he answered wisely, he said to him, "You are not far from the kingdom of God." After that no one dared to ask him any question.
That is our version of regional haute cuisine and I am sure it is government-approved. However, I still prefer a grilled cheese with ketchup. Cheddar, please, white bread, and tomato slices in it. Yum.
Lobster is overrated. It's just a big bug, but I am happy to promote Yankeeland's Clam Chowda, Cod Chowda, and baked beans. Especially Cod Chowda. With hot biscuits on the side.
Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action, and till action, lust Is perjured, murd'rous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust, Enjoyed no sooner but despisèd straight, Past reason hunted, and no sooner had, Past reason hated as a swallowed bait On purpose laid to make the taker mad; Mad in pursuit, and in possession so, Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme; A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe; Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream. All this the world well knows, yet none knows well To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
A classic, cool weather Southern Italian dish. Easy. I am not a big fan of southern Italian, but this is a standard for those many who enjoy this sort of thing. Use chicken thighs only.
"There is a self-hatred in the West that can be considered only as something pathological. The West attempts in a praiseworthy manner to open itself completely to the comprehension of external values, but it no longer loves itself; it now only sees what is despicable and destructive in its own history, while it is no longer able to perceive what is great and pure there."
A man should have the serenity that comes from living in his own home; should not depend entirely on some boss for his livelihood, and daily permissions; nor be entangled from adolescence in debt, nor constantly huzza’d by tempters. He should never be treated as cattle, or chattel, or “demographic target.” He should not be deflected from the life of pilgrim, sub specie aeternitatis; nor deprived of the freedom to make his own way.
Feminizing the Air Force with legal terror. Having young females around makes guys act stupid, always. I somehow doubt that the Russkis or the Chinese would do that, and their Bergdahl would have been instantly executed
Life 
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Most kids in New England are raised on 
Photo: Dawn at Maggie's HQ, with coupsie car 
Sonnet 129
Agriculture is "