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.
I refer to Arthur Miller's 1949 Death of a Salesman. I saw it performed once in New Haven, read it once or twice.
It's a dreary play about unhappy people, and I would have no interest in seeing it again. For a reason I cannot understand, it's been viewed as some sort of critique of modern life and capitalist society. I suppose being a regular person seems humdrum to a wealthy, celebrated writer who married Marilyn Monroe. The Lee Siegel comment on the current Broadway production is in that vein: Death of a Salesman’s Dreams.
Lee Siegel's comment is wrong on more counts than I have time to review.
For what it's worth, in my view it's the story, not about middle class dreams, but about life's disappointments. I suppose the endurance of the play has to do with the fact that we all have disappointed dreams. Biff's sanity is his aspiration to be "ordinary."
The play is also, I suppose, a play about clinical depression and a play about kids' perceptions of their fathers. But is that worth paying big bucks to see?
I happened to have a chat with a salesman recently. He sells services for IBM. Loves his job. Somebody told me recently that, in one way or another, "everybody is in sales."
That the Obama White House has taken men and women of repute and transformed them into Axelrodian snark artists long preceded Tanden’s tweet. But it caught my attention because it seemed to be the reductio ad absurdum of modern liberalism. Until, that is, Elizabeth Warren bailed her out.
When Stalinism Was in Vogue - Lillian Hellman disdained a system that made her fabulously rich while romanticizing one that made its citizens spectacularly poor.
"Julia" is the "composite female" with which the Obama campaign is attempting to secure the women's vote.
Not the vote of strong, liberated women, but the vote of those women, I suppose, who want a life of dependency and want government to be some composite of parent and spouse.
"Julia" is a rather pitiful American specimen, so people are having fun with her:
According to Mises, “The profit system [of the free market] makes those men prosper who have succeeded in filling the wants of the people in the best possible and cheapest way.” The free market is a daily plebiscite, he explained, in which “every penny gives a right to vote … who should own and run the plants, shops and farms.” Rather than giving everyone an equal share in running the economy, the free market places in charge those best able to provide for the many. In this arrangement, everyone must produce. Everyone buys and sells. “This is what the modern concept of freedom means,” noted Mises. “Every adult is free to fashion his life according to his own plans.
Our resident blog critic says it's a dumb article. Here's the article: Against Chairs. A quote:
I hate to piss on the party, but chairs suck. All of them. No designer has ever made a good chair, because it is impossible. Some are better than others, but all are bad. Not only are chairs a health hazard, they also have a problematic history that has inextricably tied them to our culture of status-obsessed individualism. Worse still, we’ve become dependent on them and it’s not clear that we’ll ever be free.
It sounds absurd to claim that chairs are dangerous.
This is a story of brazen administration action of dubious legality undertaken with transparently corrupt purposes. Yet it has received amazingly little coverage. You might almost think we lacked a free press or something.
He is like a pro with Photoshop. As readers can tell from my snapshots, I have never used that program. I have neither the time nor the interest. What I snap is what I get. Were I an artist, I would paint pictures.
These things have all of these buttons and menus. Who wants to bother with that? OK, call me a luddite.
Throughout the opening decades of the 20th century, American liberals engaged in a spirited critique of Americanism, a condition they understood as the pursuit of mass prosperity by an energetic but crude, grasping people chasing their private ambitions without the benefit of a clerisy to guide them. In thrall to their futile quest for material well-being, and numbed by the popular entertainments that appealed to the lowest common denominator in a nation of immigrants, Americans were supposedly incapable of recognizing the superiority of European culture as defined by its literary achievements.
This critique gave rise to the ferment of the 1920s, described by the literary critic Malcolm Cowley as the “exciting years…when…the young intellectuals seized power in the literary world almost like the Bolsheviks in Russia.” The writers Cowley referred to—Sinclair Lewis, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Sherwood Anderson, and Waldo Frank especially—had “a vague belief in aristocracy” and a sense that they were being “oppressed” by the culture of Main Street. But they believed America could be rescued from the pits of its popular culture by secular priests of sufficient insight to redeem the country from the depredations of the mass culture produced by democracy and capitalism. They were championed not only by leftists such as Cowley, but also by Nietzscheans such as H.L. Mencken, the critic and editor whom Walter Lippmann described in 1926 as “the most powerful influence on this whole generation of educated people” who famously mocked the hapless “herd,” “the imbeciles,” the “booboisie,” all of whom he deemed the “peasantry” that blighted American cultural life.
They seem to be raising their chicks on pigeons, mostly. Squab is tasty. I've had it several times. Best was with the breast served on top of the liver, with a great liver and sage sauce. I see a sparrow carcass there too. It's amusing to see how the chicks use their future wings as arms.
Thus far, I have seen, in their pantry, meadow vole, bunny rabbit, seagull, sparrow, and plenty of pigeons. No tofu and no vegetables at all.
Parenthood is hard work, and often boring. How loving and devoted are these parents, though? They trade off in warming and feeding the nestlings.
The well-known excerpt from Blake's rarely-read poem "Milton" is called "Jerusalem" when used as the popular English wedding hymn.
How many megabytes of data 
A photo nut pal loves this new one he's been using: 