Maggie's Farm

One more borrowed from Dr. Merc's collection:

John 9: 1-41

As he passed by, he saw a man blind from his birth. And his disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" Jesus answered, "It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be made manifest in him. We must work the works of him who sent me, while it is day; night comes, when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world." As he said this, he spat on the ground and made clay of the spittle and anointed the man's eyes with the clay, saying to him, "Go, wash in the pool of Silo'am" (which means Sent). So he went and washed and came back seeing. The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar, said, "Is not this the man who used to sit and beg?" Some said, "It is he"; others said, "No, but he is like him." He said, "I am the man." They said to him, "Then how were your eyes opened?" He answered, "The man called Jesus made clay and anointed my eyes and said to me, `Go to Silo'am and wash'; so I went and washed and received my sight." They said to him, "Where is he?" He said, "I do not know."

They brought to the Pharisees the man who had formerly been blind. Now it was a sabbath day when Jesus made the clay and opened his eyes. The Pharisees again asked him how he had received his sight. And he said to them, "He put clay on my eyes, and I washed, and I see." Some of the Pharisees said, "This man is not from God, for he does not keep the sabbath." But others said, "How can a man who is a sinner do such signs?" There was a division among them. So they again said to the blind man, "What do you say about him, since he has opened your eyes?" He said, "He is a prophet."

The Jews did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight, until they called the parents of the man who had received his sight, and asked them, "Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How then does he now see?" His parents answered, "We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind; but how he now sees we do not know, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age, he will speak for himself." His parents said this because they feared the Jews, for the Jews had already agreed that if any one should confess him to be Christ, he was to be put out of the synagogue. Therefore his parents said, "He is of age, ask him."

So for the second time they called the man who had been blind, and said to him, "Give God the praise; we know that this man is a sinner." He answered, "Whether he is a sinner, I do not know; one thing I know, that though I was blind, now I see." They said to him, "What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?" He answered them, "I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you too want to become his disciples?" And they reviled him, saying, "You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses. We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from." The man answered, "Why, this is a marvel! You do not know where he comes from, and yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but if any one is a worshiper of God and does his will, God listens to him. Never since the world began has it been heard that any one opened the eyes of a man born blind. If this man were not from God, he could do nothing." They answered him, "You were born in utter sin, and would you teach us?" And they cast him out.

Jesus heard that they had cast him out, and having found him he said, "Do you believe in the Son of man?" He answered, "And who is he, sir, that I may believe in him?" Jesus said to him, "You have seen him, and it is he who speaks to you." He said, "Lord, I believe"; and he worshiped him. Jesus said, "For judgment I came into this world, that those who do not see may see, and that those who see may become blind." Some of the Pharisees near him heard this, and they said to him, "Are we also blind?" Jesus said to them, "If you were blind, you would have no guilt; but now that you say, `We see,' your guilt remains.

Brace's Rock, Eastern Point, Gloucester, MA, c. 1864. Oil on canvas. John Wilmerding Collection

Our Dylanologist is in Mexico, in Cabo this week for a well-deserved break from reality.

Cabo used to be a funky place, but it's turning into Miami West. He contemplated a quick trip to Guadalajara to catch the Dylan performance, but the air fare from Cabo was prohibitive. He promised to pre-post his weekly Dylan entry, since internet is iffy in Mexico.

A heachache blog! (h/t, McArdle)

The Boston Globe's decline. Jules

Communism has only killed 100,000,000 people. Let's give it another try. No Pasaran

Not your everyday book review: re Mark Helprin's Winter's Tale

Somebody give these kids an English passport. Theo 

It makes everything more interesting: Adderal abuse.

Strangest statue in Bennington, VT (h/t, Grow a Brain)

Makes the US Postal Service look good. Brit hospitals

Photo from Theo's billboard collection

Theodore Roosevelt speaking from his porch at Sagamore Hill, 1916. The man could talk...and talk and talk. People who travelled and camped with him said he would never shut up, but he was a great storyteller.

In fact, in 1912 he was shot in the chest by an assassin in Milwaukee - but insisted on finishing his speech before going to the hospital. (His eyeglass case probably saved his life.)

The guy needed no teleprompter.

"Own a complete library of the most influential books of all time!"

It's remarkable that things like this are produced today. Gutenberg would be pleased. Of course, there is Project Gutenberg too.

The Petersburg Courthouse, 1865, from photos of the siege of Petersburg, via Shorpy:

That entire section of The Pirates of Penzance is here.

If you could kick the person in the pants responsible for most of your trouble, you wouldn't sit for a month.

Theodore Roosevelt

Vote for your favorite English landscape (h/t, Theo). This is Dorset:

The New Yorker piece linked this morning,  "What Was I Thinking?", about behavioral economics is well worth reading. It's a fascinating field of study.

Snake eats family dog. A little science education for the kiddie-poos.

Insty: JOHN STOSSEL: Guns save lives.

Keith Richards talks

Adding to blogroll: Q and O on the economy.

Ten quotes against work. (h/t, Grow a Brain)

Is Obama a feminized male? The larger question: Have our politics become feminized?

The case against govt. subsidies for college.

NAFTA nonsense.

Milbots. Is there an ethical question? I do not see one.

A comment on the Sam Zell piece linked earlier: He is at least right about one thing - the Dems' needing to talk down the economy as much as they can. Doom and gloom.

Photo: A view of the back of the ocean dunes, Wellfleet, MA

Something for me to remember Bill Buckley with: the Contrapunctus 1 from Bach's The Art of the Fugue, with Glenn Gould.

Gordontown, NC. Dorothea Lange, 1939 (h/t, Dr. X, who we trust does not mind the occasional theft from his remarkable photo stash)

From So What?, by Sippican:

The stage is exactly three inches and a galaxy away from the dance floor. Dance? Please. Stumble around with a woman that ain't your wife, I think. I like the old dude that looks like Batman's butler or a fruity sort of baron or something that conducts or sways or whatever it is he's doing. He's possessed with it, same as me. He's usually possessed of plenty of cake, a desire to buy a man a drink, and an aversion to arithmetic, too. The waitresses adore that.

The curtain is dirty from wiping your hands on it. Me included. It's dirty like life is. Up high, it's dirty with cobwebs and dust and corruption because you can't reach up there. Down low it's dirty with the grubby hands of all of us trying to wipe off the sweat and grease of what you're doing.

I listen for the cornshucks of the brushes on the snare. He hits it, but I don't care about that. In between -- the faint circular sketching he does without thinking -- that's what I'm after. He's lathering the dry face of the song so I can shave it with the sharp edge of the brass. The bass rumbles like thunder in the distance.

I can taste metal and blood and booze in my mouth. Tastes like life.

Via Dr. Merc's snowman toons:

I am only an average man but, by George, I work harder at it than the average man.

Theodore Roosevelt

It ain't Baryshnikov - it is square-dancing tractors and a real Maggie's Farm sort of simple, county fair entertainment (h/t, Theo):

“Liberals, it has been said, are generous with other peoples' money, except when it comes to questions of national survival when they prefer to be generous with other people's freedom and security.”

William F. Buckley, Jr.

Another shot of Cannon Mtn. Ski Area, where cannonistas appreciate the lack of upscale amenities:

 and a shot of the Franconia Inn, not far from Cannon Mtn. and Rte. 93: