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.
If the face of the current credit and liquidity tensions on Wall Street, the public humiliation of Spitzer has provided an occasion for laughter, countless cruel jokes, and general levity in downtown New York City, and many off-color jokes will be made tonight over drinks to celebrate his political demise. Multi-millionaire Spitzer (family real estate money, I think) is known not only for being a sanctimonious, arrogant, self-centered SOB, but also for following the Guiliani script of building a reputation by ruthlessly destroying the reputations and lives of white collar workers in finance - people who, at best, might have been subject to civil cases - or no cases at all.
As they say in NYC, a NY Grand Jury will indict a ham sandwich if the prosecutor asks them to.
"You can tell ahead of time, every time, which side of a dispute a lefty will gravitate towards. The one antithetical to the interests of America and capitalism. Period. Sure there's always greed, self interest, etc., but egotism is the most powerful motivator and the egos of leftists are built entirely on the foundation of the assumed moral superiority of their politics. Gramsci and his followers combined Marxism and Freudianism in a toxic brew devised to hold the indoctrinated masses' self esteem hostage to their leftist politics. That's why it is so durable in spite of all the contrary empirical evidence and the heavy burden of massive cognitive dissonance.''
A comment from Maggie's Farm reader Paul, this week, re our Chavez post
The proprietor of the blog Mister Snitch has contacted us in a friendly manner to find out what Maggie's Farm is up to. He is interested in blogs.
I'd like to be able to answer his questions, but cannot. We have no mission and no goals other than a steady growth in readership. All we do is to follow our doggy noses, and try to learn something - and to amuse ourselves - in the process. Yes, we want readers, but if we are to be a boutique blog, then so be it: We started this experiment as a lark, and it has become a somewhat serious hobby.
Our March stats surely are gratifying, but most of those visitors won't settle down by Maggie's fireplace for a smoke, a chat, and a glass or two of scotch. Alas.
Two bored casino dealers are waiting at the crap table. A very attractive blonde woman from South Carolina arrived and bet twenty thousand dollars on a single roll of the dice.
She said, 'I hope you don't mind, but I feel much luckier when I play topless.'
With that, she stripped to the waist; rolled the dice; and yelled, 'Come on, Southern Girl needs new clothes!'
As the dice bounced and came to a stop, she jumped up-and-down and squealed 'YES! YES! I WON! I WON!'
She hugged each of the dealers...and then picked up her winnings, and her clothes, and quickly departed.
The dealers stared at each other dumfounded. Finally, one of them asked, 'What did she roll?'
The other answered, 'I don't know... I thought you were watching.'
The photographs and diaries of Sophia Tolstoy have been published. Here's one of her photos of herself with her cheerful and fun-loving husband Leo (she would set up the shots and ask passing strangers to expose the image):
Spare us the learned, sociology-drenched justifications.
Spare us the reasons why you "get" Palestinians when they gun Jews down in cold blood.
Spare us the chapter and verse on how the plight of the Palestinians is at the root of Islamic terrorism the world over, and if the Palestinians were to receive full justice, Islamic terrorism would pass from the world.
6 The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace; 7 the sinful mind is hostile to God. It does not submit to God's law, nor can it do so. 8 Those controlled by the sinful nature cannot please God.
9 You, however, are controlled not by the sinful nature but by the Spirit, if the Spirit of God lives in you. And if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, he does not belong to Christ. 10 But if Christ is in you, your body is dead because of sin, yet your spirit is alive because of righteousness. 11 And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit, who lives in you.
Over the past month or so we have seen Maria in various settings, from Greenwich Village basket houses to the present. Here's a snippet of Maria singing One Hour Mama from her 2007 album Naughty, Bawdy and Blue:
My garden blazes brightly with the rose-bush and the peach, And the koil sings above it, in the siris by the well, From the creeper-covered trellis comes the squirrel's chattering speech, And the blue jay screams and flutters where the cheery sat-bhai dwell. But the rose has lost its fragrance, and the koil's note is strange; I am sick of endless sunshine, sick of blossom-burdened bough. Give me back the leafless woodlands where the winds of Springtime range -- Give me back one day in England, for it's Spring in England now!
Through the pines the gusts are booming, o'er the brown fields blowing chill, From the furrow of the ploughshare streams the fragrance of the loam, And the hawk nests on the cliffside and the jackdaw in the hill, And my heart is back in England 'mid the sights and sounds of Home. But the garland of the sacrifice this wealth of rose and peach is, Ah! koil, little koil, singing on the siris bough, In my ears the knell of exile your ceaseless bell like speech is -- Can you tell me aught of England or of Spring in England now?
* koil -- The Indian bell-bird.
sat-bhai -- Indian starlings.
Kipling really wrote songs, not poems, it seems to me, and he was known to sing them. Not that there is any real difference. He came to mind this week because of neoneo's piece on Kipling in Vermont, which led us to Sippican's Kipling Table. Photo: Naulakha, Kipling's arts and crafts Vermont home where he wrote the Jungle Books, among others.
The proprietor of the blog 
Two bored casino dealers are waiting at the crap table. A very attractive blonde woman from South Carolina arrived and bet twenty thousand dollars on a single roll of the dice.
If cats could talk, they wouldn't.
My friend recommended 
I am told by those who know such things that Platycodon grandiflorus, a member of the Campanula family, belongs in every perennial flower border.