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.
The relentlessly arrogant and condescending Noam Chomsky is wrong about most things. The fame which gave him a voice in politics was, of course, his linguistic theory on which, as it turns out, a generation of Linguists have wasted their careers.
I tend to dislike zoning and urban planning in general. I prefer organically-grown spaces. I like commercial spaces embedded in residential spaces, and even in suburbia candy shops, corner drug stores, and pubs would appear as gathering places in residential areas if they were allowed. That big divide makes no sense.
Urban planners are central planners, meaning that they usually are arrogant and get things wrong. Nowadays, few people wish to live full-time in the countryside or in the woods except for misanthropes. People like a vibrant, human-scale community whether in New York City or in Rumford, Maine.
We feel like the decision rule ought to be the one articulated by now retired Marine Gen. John Kelly, which is: “If something does not improve the battlefield lethality of our military, we ought to be very hesitant to undertake it.”
If you dressed that way in college today, people would assume that you were as gay as Milo. However, kids in fine private schools still dress in ties for class, and those youths in the photo were probably just wearing something similar to what they had always worn to school. People used to dress for church too. I still do. It shows respect for the occasion. Please do not wear cut-off jeans to church. I am sure God doesn't care, but I do. (And you gals, please do not dress too sexy. It is a terrible distraction for us guys.)
It seems to me that part of the post-war cultural change in the US, and in the West generally, contained a degree of psychological regression, a clinging to childhood or adolescence. I do not know why that happened (decadence from prosperity and comfort?), but there was a time when people aged 18 were adults, viewed themselves as adults, comported themselves as adults, dressed like adults and, in short, aspired to be dignified grown-ups. I know this from my parents, but I grew up after that. Adulthood was difficult for them (military service, war, money, etc) but adulthood is always a deadly serious matter for which children are not equipped.
Dress expectations are superficial for sure, but they still mean something. So do all other cultural expectations. I am most comfortable associating with those who share my cultural expectations. Generally, know what to expect. Birds of a feather...
Solway discusses The Infantilizing of the Academy. I will not blame anybody or anything for the cultural regressions, but it is an interesting question.
A friend returned from a bachelor party weekend in the US heartland. His report:
Fri nite: Cookout at his friend's parents' house, with kegs, a bonfire, and fireworks of course in the back field. Sat: 6 hours at the shooting range, with unlimited shotgun, handgun, and rifle sports. Sat nite: They drove a few hrs from Ohio to Pittsburgh for a nice big dinner event, had to wear neat, clean clothes. Sun: They went to a dirt track race after early church. Box seats! Then everybody drove home to wherever they came from. Nobody flew, cuz firearms are not carry-on.
I have never attended a bachelor party as good as that. This was outside the Beltway for sure. Flyover Country where people change their own oil in their cars and trucks.
Once or twice a year we organize artsy-fartsy outings for our artsy art-loving friends. On Saturday, the most beautiful day of the year up here, we all got up to Storm King Art Center to spend four hours hiking around the lovely park-like grounds in the Hudson Highlands.
Wonderful outing. I determined that one of the potties in the woods was a Richard Serra, but it was just a potty. Saw a fox and a few migrating raptors. Plus lots of Calders, Serras, Di Suveros, Goldsworthys, etc. These large constructions look their best in large spaces with plenty of 360 degree perspective. Good fun. Tired legs.
The place is growing. It's a destination for worldwide art-lovers, and you will hear all sorts of languages spoken as you hike the 500+ acres. Photo is a Goldsworthy stone wall, diving into the lake. I do not know whether it's art, but it is fun to see a finely-constructed wall and that is good enough for me.
Thanks to wealthy people with good taste, America became the fine arts center of the world. For now, anyway.
Check out Storm King sometime. You can bring a picnic or have a sammich at their little outdoor cafe. In 3 1/2 hours of walking outdoors you can not see it all. Our next expedition will be in winter, to DIA Beacon. That's another famous worldwide art destination.
Off topic, but for Northeast hiking, google Hudson Highlands hiking. Great stuff with countless trails of all lengths, and excellent for the fall migration.
Had occasion to cross the Tappan Zee Bridge yesterday. Seeing the progress of the new bridge, adjacent to the old, is a thrill. Once in a while a government does something worthy. My only regret is that the bridge does not have rail. It should. I think there is not a single rail bridge over the southern Hudson River, which is odd and unfortunate.
Travelogue: The Imperial Capital. It's a part of the world where there is never a recession, pay and benefits are generous, and where few can feel good about their job. Managers and paper-pushers by the tens of thousands, and a large load of talented schmoozers. A modern Ancient Rome.
What kind of people are these administrators? Surely Yale Univ. has thousands of smart, normal students even if the admin consists of castrati. Are they all intimidated into silence while these circuses occur? Or too busy studying to have time for nonsense?
A friend is in the wedding party at a Dominican wedding this weekend. He's been brushing up on his Salsa and Merengue. He lived in Costa Rica for two years so he had plenty of experience in Latin dance clubs. He says, "With Latin Americans, you can't get chicks if you can't dance." I said I thought Merengue had a bit of happy grinding. It does.
You can learn those dance rhythms and moves on Youtube.
I want one. I used to think they were silly, but now I realize that they are nothing but a permanent campfire. People love to assemble around them, the smoke keeps bugs away, and they are great for burning marshmallows.
And if you go pagan, you can put burnt offerings on it too. It won't hold an ox, but perhaps a goat or unblemished lamb.
I am planning to double the size of our cramped bluestone patio and already know where I want the fire.
This excellent specialty lumber place on Cape Cod, Stonewood, will deliver the cut stone on a pallet with the insert, ready for simple assembly. No mortar.
Good for her, but you do not need to go to Appalachia to find Charles Murray's Fishtowns. There is lots of dysfunction out there, and many people lacking in "Social Capital" and "Cultural Capital". So much, in fact, that the Fishtown life might be a sort of normal. The Belmonts might be exceptions, not normal.
Leading a high-functioning, disciplined, and productive life is far more difficult that it can appear. When dependency becomes normalized, behavioral regression and immaturity are further enabled.
America has never been a classless society. From the beginning, rich and poor have usually lived in different parts of town, gone to different churches, and had somewhat different manners and mores. It is not the existence of classes that is new, but the emergence of classes that diverge on core behaviors and values—classes that barely recognize their underlying American kinship.
Three statistician hunters see a deer. First one shoots, 3 yards to the left. Second one shoots, 3 yards to the right. Third one exclaims "We got him!"
A classic of Film Noir, The Third Man is probably one of the most famous to inextricably link its story and characters with the city in which it was filmed, Vienna. On any given day, you can walk past filming locations. My first day there, I inadvertently passed Harry Lime's apartment, but deliberately went to the infamous ferris wheel, or Riesenrad.
Lime's apartment building is almost next door to the Imperial Palace, in a fairly noteworthy section of the city. Yet you really wouldn't make the connection between reality and film if you weren't aware of its use, and I wasn't that first day. In fact, I wasn't clued in until my brother-in-law pointed it out to me on my last day in Vienna.
I didn't go to Vienna to do a tour of the film's locations, but trying to visit them will certainly give you a good understanding of the city and its history. It was filmed over some of the more interesting portions of town, and given the timing, the use of British and Soviet sectors helps keep that part of history alive and interesting. A tour of film locations is as good a way to see the city as any other.
To that end, there are some points of The Third Man worth addressing for modern viewers who aren't familiar with history. After all, Austria and its capital city, Vienna, were split by the Allies into zones of occupation and management much like Germany and Berlin. This continued for many years, ending in 1955 when secret negotiations between Austrian diplomats and the Soviets steered Austria into a neutral global position. (It may come as a surprise to some, but Vienna has tended to have a very cozy relationship with Socialism, and Communism in particular. While Austria has been a successful post-war 'Western' nation and economy, its capital city's cozy relationship with leftist politics are evident in location names (Friedrich-Engels Platz), tenement/museums (Karl-Marx-Hof, built in 1930), and even some of their monuments.) As a result, even though the war was long over, the military plays a primary role in the story.
Most of the film takes place in the British zone, which is where Lime's apartment is located. His address is 15 Stiftgasse, but the real location is the Palais Pallavicini, across from the Spanish Riding School in Michaelerplatz.
Since the film was shot in Vienna while it was still rebuilding after the war, in 1949, the devastation is still clear in many scenes. Most notably the road to the cemetery (south of the city toward the airport) or the lot next to the Cafe Mozart. The real Cafe Mozart wasn't used in the filming, as the location chosen was the Neuer Markt.
I want one. I used to think they were silly, but now I realize that they are nothing but a permanent campfire. People love to assemble around them, the smoke keeps bugs away, and they are great for burning marshmallows.
A classic of Film Noir, The Third Man is probably one of the most famous to