Maggie's Farm

h/t, Never Yet Melted

They say that our Flicker numbers are decreasing, but we have tons of them around here. A couple of years ago, we had two young dumb ones decided to plunge down our chimney, and it was tough catching them and putting them outside. Sharp beaks.

I heard one calling this morning. "Flicka flicka flicka." They migrate, unlike most woodpeckers, but these guys do more pecking in the earth than they do in trees. They love to eat ants, and suburbia doesn't seem to bother them.

You can read more about these birds here.

This is the very perfection of a man, to find out his own imperfections.

Saint Augustine

Heard on 770 radio, post-debate, from a caller:

If you want to vote for an American Idol, vote for Obama. If you want to vote for an American president, you'll vote for McCain.

We concluded our most recent planning meeting for our local Ducks Unlimited event by consuming a bottle of delicious, smooth, and healthful Liquore di Mirto (aka "Mirto") which the Dylanologist was kind enough to bring us back from Sardinia this summer.

It is apparently the national drink of Sardinia. They like it in Corsica too. This bottle was from Oristana.

The rosso is like a port, with the extremely pleasant and unique fragrance of Myrtle.

It's too precious and tasty to waste on debate-watching. We recommend shots and beer for that.

Bruce Kesler emails this post:

Many Republicans are outraged that the major media has not delved into Barack Obama’s track-record of ties to radicals and crooks and of baldly denying his own prior  words and actions, or ignoring Joe Biden’s gaffes, especially while devoting major resources and space to – often exaggerating – any deemed peccadillo by John McCain and Sarah Palin.

While this is entirely legitimate ire, it is also so that almost all who are concerned about the deceptive self-presentation by Obama and Biden are aware of it.  What is lacking is the major media imprimatur on their duplicity that provides it with greater impact upon the choice for president.

However, as the election nears, the possibility has risen of Barack Obama being elected  which stimulates some in the major media to reflect more on his background and programs.  This increased attention, while likely being far from what is needed, will still reduce his margin.

But, what is far more pressing on most voters’ minds is naturally the economy.  It will do McCain little additional good to harp on Obama’s associates.  Surrogates can handle that.

The economy should be stressed.  It provides little reassurance to honestly say we’re in uncharted territory.  Most of the public expects government action.  More reflection or restraint is not accepted, because of expectations developed by decades of government promises and interventions, no matter how hollow or unproductive, and by validation from both political parties that government still has ready remedies that will avoid pain.

An email from our WS friend:

BUY MUNIS.  Tax-exempt bonds pricing at 6.25? You'd be insane not to in this market.  Plus, with Dems likely to take over, Muni rates will drop significantly because everyone expects taxes to go up.  The value of your 6.25 coupons (aka bond price) will increase when market yields drop. (Market yields for Munis have spiked to over 10-yr highs in the past week, by the way.) When rates fall, you can either keep you tax free 6 percent or cash out.  If rates don't fall, 6.25 still isn't bad... Its a win-win.  New York City is in the market today and we are all placing bids! Gotta run -

Pray as though everything depended on God. Work as though everything depended on you.

Saint Augustine

Mrs. Bird Dog attended this event last night. She and her companions said hi to John and Sarah. She appreciates these two fine folks very much, but she came home feeling discouraged about the election.

They raised $9 million, but how to spend it? All I got was an XL McCain-Palin t-shirt. Where can I wear that?

Rants are sometimes therapeutic, aren't they? Vanderleun caught our friend Dr. Bob's recent jeremiad. 

Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose. I think we (slightly) grey hairs were saying such things in the cave-man days...not that such things do not need to be said.

An odalisque is a Moslem's slave concubine, but all guys could use a bunch of them around the place, as long as they have sweet and agreeable temperaments and are willing to give the wife a hand with the chores. Plus no burkhas required when they are lounging around ye olde wood-stove-heated New England harem. 

Ingres' Odalisque (1814).

The modern version:

This is worse than a friggin' divorce. I've lost half my net worth and I still have my wife.

Mike Cuccurillo at Lehman/Barclays

It's been a terrible year for butterflies in Yankeeland, and I have never seen so few Monarchs migrating through our gardens. (I blame global cooling.)

But I did see a stunning and feisty Orange Sulphur on my woodpile this morning. It's their flight season. This one had wide black margins like the one in the photo, but their coloration is variable.

It looked like an orange autumn Maple leaf, taking flight.

What the Obama people really want

Clinton official says Dems and Obama advisors share blame for bank crisis.

Check out this warning letter from 2006

Obama: "I want to spread the wealth around." It would seem that Obama believes that the government owns the money this entrepreneurial hard-working plumber made. It's the zero-sum fallacy of wealth.

Here's more on what "cutting taxes" really means

Demography: "No Democrat has won a majority of the white vote for president in my lifetime..." Outside the Beltway

Repubs and blue-collar voters. Front Page

Why Obama's socialism matters. Am Thinker

Howard Stern interviews Obama supporters. Unbelievable!

Neoneo: Obama the soft socialist

How to steal Ohio

Messianic quotes re Obama. Suckers.

h/t, AVI

A free ad for this Vermont photographer's site:

It's been a long time since our Aliyah pal has given us a look at his new life in Israel.

Holy Blood  - Part I - Oct 2008

Being two days before Yom Kippur, I set my gyroscope for the Shuk.  I travel gyroscopically to reach each station of my pilgrimage: the butcher for chicken, the Arab green grocer; the Menahem Begin booth for fruit; the Ethiopian's for quinoa and spices. In the shuk, nothing should distract me.  But, the shuk is mostly distractions.
   

This day, my 'scope went off its gimbals.  A small breech in the shuk wall beckoned.  It was on Agrippas Street, just past the rugelach bakery and before the Arab knupfe and sweets seller. First I notice the two girl soldiers guarding the opening.  Instead of bustle, an occasional person or a couple entered or left solemnly. The two steps up was half-ramped with rough cement, the stuff what the Romans invented.
   

Transformed to flaneur, I entered, hesitantly. An open courtyard with three tables forming an open square not quite greets me. In fact, greeting doesn't come to mind here.  Only after a few moments does an undertone of pungence, an indistinct rankness fogged about me – comes and goes. I realize later that this is the fragrance of fowl death.  I see a trio of pairs behind each table and perhaps five people before them, one young religious couple milling centrally or posed before the tables of judgment.  Matters dawn on me. I see the kippa'd man withdraw a live chicken from a coop. He has a deft manner of holding up to the customer. One-handed, he pinions the wings from their base (our shoulder) behind the bird; unflappable these wings are now.  I hear peeps and realize that these are almost chickens; oversized chicks, pubertal birds.  The chicken, while white, has a besmirched breast, as if it has not yet come clean. It soon must.  Of the young couple, the woman, hair-covered, bends forward, but a bit. The chicken-wielder passes the bird in an elliptically orbit and just at an angle near the woman's head, like some off-centered rings of Saturn. I see his lips move.  Then, he pulls back this feathered sattelite and deftly again, releases thumb and forefinger from the wings to hold back the chicken's head, goose-necking the bird. In his other hand, he wields a straightrazor, similar to the old types once leather-stropped, but this has replaceable blades, like what Gillette invented.  He makes a gentle slit, much less to it than I thought might be.  And does the bird a header into one of eight zinc funnels sticking into the table before him. Little is seen from these funnels above – I think I spot a few feathers ascend to heavenward, but are brought back by wind and gravity before they get too far. I think I spy the legs kicking, but perhaps this is imagination. I do see the blood funneling down below. The couple, looking relieved or calmed, perhaps certain that at least the woman's sins have been dispelled, leave hand-in-hand.  Money exchanged hands, but I never saw this.
   

This is the last day of Dylan Week at Maggie's, but we will, of course, continue with our weekly Thurday Free Ad for Bob when we can. Our advice: Catch Bob when he's in your neighborhood - he will be there sooner or later. 

One verse from this song (which is reminiscent of The Bells of Rhymney, which The Byrds rocked in 1965):

Ring them bells St. Peter where the four winds blow,
Ring them bells with an iron hand so the people will know
that it's rush hour now, for the wheel and the plow,
and the sun is going down upon the sacred cow.

Full lyrics here.

From Dylan's 1989 record "Oh, Mercy" (audio only, with Dylan on piano):

This performance of the song is from Dublin, Sept. 2000:

This is where our Gwynnie will be waking this morning, far from any internet connectivity but where the Manitoba heavens declare the glory of God and where the ducks and geese are (sometimes) abundant (and Ruffed Grouse too and, in good years, Sharp-Tailed Grouse). This year, all of the duck boats have new quiet Yamaha engines, which is a good thing, because I had to row 5 miles last time I was there when the old Johnson died. Not that I really mind rowing, but rowing into a wind and current tests one's perseverence. Not that such tests of character are not good things, either... 

I should be there too, but I'm not. He promised a photo gallery when he returns. He brought his new camera with him.

Psalm 19: A Psalm of David

Ed Bradley's 2004 interview. Dylan, as usual, shy, laconic and elusive, and seemingly more inward than the average bear. Part 1:

Part 2:

Dylan and The Band at the Isle of Wight Festival, Aug. 31, 1969:

"When the freedom they wished for most was the freedom from responsibility, then Athens ceased to be free and never was free again." 

 Edith Hamilton