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.
At Great Books' podcast, an enjoyable discussion of Dante's Inferno. "Dante was a man of tremendous and wide desires, desires for personal, literary, political excellence. And then he lost everything." Of course, Verona is not a bad place to which to be exiled. That's where he wrote The Divine Comedy. In the end, they did make his tomb back in Santa Croce.
We've seen those giant hillside marble quarries in northern Italy, around the lakes region, gleaming in the sun. Marble is metamorphosed Limestone. Limestone is mostly made of little ocean critters' remains. Travertine is a sort-of unconsolidated marble. Travertine is good stuff too.
Our genial and elegant host at a cool tenuda on the hill overlooking Lago Maggiore shipped an approximately 12'X6'X5' block of marble across the lake, up by truck and cranes to his hillside, and had stonecutters turn it into a giant sarcophagus-like hot tub in his olive grove, surrounded by lime and lemon trees, with the heated water from a stream which flowed through it. Just begged to be a sexual invitation, there in the dark with the scent of the lemon blossoms. Is there anybody who disdains outdoor sex? I've always thought it was the best thing. Natural, primitive.
He only scratches the surface of the Enlightenment ideas of individualism and individual freedom which, I have been led to believe, are Western Christian and/or Judeo-Christian notions. I don't know.
Had drinks and dinner with a long-time pal and colleague the other night. The kind of pal with whom you could happily sip whiskies, maybe enjoy a ceegar, and shoot the breeze on every sort of topic all night, from the philosophical to football.
Now this guy is in his 80s. Works at his career every day. Has more sports that he plays, and more hobbies and volunteer activities than he can handle. And his Mrs. (his age) has begun a second career after retiring. I'm lucky to get him for a supper out every quarter (which is my minimum target for close pals).
I did ask him how he dealt with awareness of his aging. "Whenever it crosses my mind, I push the thought away."
I want to become like that dude if or when it comes to pass.
Adult males rarely want much for Christmas other than the company of family and friends and a glass or two of eggnog, but one material thing they always welcome are fun socks. It takes a serious male to wear fun socks. Trust me. Black socks are to make you appear serious. They do not make you serious.
The reason for black socks is No Sock Sorting. But that is just laziness. Black socks are for mens' job interviews.
OK, let's discuss socks. In our house, we have work-out socks, tennis socks, skiing socks, hiking socks, dress socks (male), yard-work socks, etc. So do you, probably.
Nowadays, fun socks are always great for gals, and for guys they signal that you are confident enough to show some sense of fun.
Loneliness is a tough problem. We live in a world full of all sorts of people, but connecting beyond a superficial level takes a special and complex combination of factors, circumstances, serendipity, and opportunity. Another problem is that we aren't necessarily all that appealing to many people, but we can hope we are appealing to a few people who appeal to us. We all reach out to people who we enjoy, and sometimes it works.
As the article points out, loneliness can spiral into excess neediness, or avoidance, distrust, and isolation. That's not a happy life.
I wish I were smart enough to write for them, pay or no pay. After four of five sentences, I'm done. Except for at work, of course, where I am Bartleby the Scrivener until I will prefer not to be.
You’ll never know exactly what a translator has done. He [or she] reads with maniacal attention to nuance and cultural implication, conscious of all the books that stand behind this one; then sets out to rewrite this impossibly complex thing in his [or her] own language, re-elaborating everything, changing everything in order that it remain the same, or as close as possible to [the translator’s] own experience of the original. In every sentence the most loyal respect must combine with the most resourceful inventiveness. Imagine shifting the Tower of Pisa into downtown Manhattan and convincing everyone it’s in the right place; that’s the scale of the task.
Aren't these two things in life we need to protect the most? Besides the future well-being of family, of course, but that's a want-to, not a need-to.
I protect my public reputation like a demon. Not because of morals so much as because my work and future depends on it. Morals too, I suppose. I have seen all too many people permanently damage their lives with just one error of judgement. Everybody talks...and few are forgiving.
Another reputational issue just has to do with a likable, engaging personality. As far as I can tell, there's not much anybody can do about that. An unpleasant or odd personality style is unfortunate in life.
When it comes to health/fitness/vigor, I can not claim to be a Maggie's paragon in that department. At this point, just an hour daily of no-intensity cardio for the past two months. Have to start somewhere, or not start at all. Flabby muscles are neither appealing nor functional.
I think I missed Columbus Day while I was in Italy. Christoforo Columbo was, of course, from the Republic of Genoa. He spoke Italian and Spanish, and, I'd like to think, Portuguese too since he had a Portuguese mistress.
Anyway, when I think about Columbus I like to remember the details of our sailing cruise (yes, with sails) in 2015 from Lisbon down the coast to Morocco and then out to the Canary Islands where Columbus always loaded up stuff for his trans-Atlantic trips.
Evert time our craft left a harbor (Lisbon, Casablanca, Agadir, Tenerife, Palmas, Gomera, etc, our Captain would blast this Vangelis piece over the ship's speakers, so it is seared - seared - into my memory. After all, this was roughly the route that Columbus took on the beginnings of his trips to the West Indies. We saw his house in the Canaries. Still there.
Met a fellow at a holiday party, and we were talking about travel. He said his travel days were long done and that he had seen enough of the world. He no longer even wants to drive to Vermont unless it's a hunting trip. His wife is headed to Petra with some friends in January, but he refuses to go with them.
I loved his story. (Details altered enough for privacy and happily OKed by the guy)
The captain discusses some of the challenges in landing on a high-altitude airport like Nairobi's. Also interesting to hear about the cargo. I love this stuff. English seems to be the international flight language.
What pilots do. Like ship captains, these guys (or gals) have to have their wits about them. What a cool job.