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.
Image: Iroquois fashion. The dude on the right has culturally-appropriated a European blanket and an iron or steel hatchet.
Like Elizabeth Warren and hundreds of thousands of Eastern Americans, we were raised on the myth of Indian blood. Spit test says none. I came out 85% English and 15% Scandinavian. I assume the Scandinavian is from the Normans (ie the Frenchified Vikings).
I mainly focus on the northeastern Indian cultures. For them, winter was a mixed blessing. Hunting and transportation was easier, fishing was more difficult. Groups that lived near the coast moved inland and built weather-proof wigwams and longhouses, some as much as 100' long. If they had a good summer corn (maize) crop in the summer, they would not starve. Remember, the northeastern Indians had hundreds of acres of corn, bean, and squash fields. Sometimes they starved when the food ran out. They did ice-fishing, and sometimes did cannibalism.
What about winter clothing? Deerskin leggings, deerskin shirts, and cloaks or coats of animal skins. Also, they greased themselves down with animal fats, preferably bear fat, as insulation.
Seventy-one years ago this month — in January 1948 — a black, 17-year-old high school dropout left home. The last grade he had completed was the 9th grade. He had no skills, little experience, and not a lot of maturity. Yet he was able to find jobs to support himself, to a far greater extent than someone similar can find jobs today.
I know because I was that black 17-year-old. And, decades later, I did research on economic conditions back then...
With two criminal parents, no surprise he made the wrong turn. Still, a great talent. I'd like to own one of his Picassos.
He's now an excellent forgery-detector because he knows the artists, and knows forgery, from the inside-out. A highly-talented and charming sociopath.
One of the world's most notorious art forgers, Guy Ribes is profiled in this documentary. For over three decades, Ribes has scored major deals selling works by Picasso, Matisse, and other legends, with a twist: Ribes himself painted the facsimile works himself. Fake heirs, ruthless dealers, and more - it's all here in the life of Guy Ribes, a Genuine Forger.
Not a big-time Debussy fan, but Mrs. BD is so I gave her tix for Pelleas at the Met for Christmas, with a light supper at a little trattoria on Columbus on Thurs. night - Il Violino. Cozy. Excellent home-made fluffy gnocchi.
But not only was Pelleas unbearably tedious but was also 4 hours including intermissions. We got out at 11:30 and home God knows when. It beats me why this is considered a great, innovative piece. It's one endless tone poem, and the plot - and the libretto - are so dull that I can't find words for it. "The sun is going down." "Yes, see it going down over the sea." Perhaps we two are too unsophisticated?
So as we walked down the red-carpeted stairs at The Met, I mentioned to Mrs. BD that we needed something like Carmen as an antidote. And, voila, WQXR had Carmen live from the Met today! Call me philistine if you must, but you can hum Carmen lines all day. Got a lot of paperwork and cleaning up done to Carmen while Mrs. packed for a girl garden tour trip. I will await her southland garden photos.
On Friday, one of my opera afficionado pals told me that he and his wife walked out of Pelleas a week or so ago, but didn't tell me so as not to bias my impression. And that guy and his wife are musicians.
This is a spliced Youtube, which begins with the semi-humorous political and winds towards the infinite. "Tragedy is the precondition of being. Being is the interplay between the finite and the infinite."
The man sure can talk powerfully. He's a preacher of sorts.
Their 60% polyester semi-dress pants are comfortably stretchy, hold a good pleat, do not wrinkle, and are as comfortable as sweat pants. So are $200 wool trousers obsolete? For me, yes, mostly.
Since I wear sport jacket and tie to work - not a suit - these are perfect for me. They are not really "casual" trousers, but can double as that too. Did I mention that they look good, and are cheap as dirt?
They have a slim fit for the youthful hipsters, and a less-slim but also trim-looking line so you don't look like an old fogey but not like you live in Brooklyn.
The wartime memoir of Siegfried Knappe. Exciting read by a good guy and excellent soldier who was on the wrong side. BTW, most German soldiers were not members of the NAZI Party. After the war, he and his wife had a good life in Iowa.
From Amazon:
Based on Knappe’s wartime diaries, filled with 16 pages of photos he smuggled into the West at war’s end, Soldat delivers a rare opportunity for the reader to understand how a ruthless psychopath motivated an entire generation of ordinary Germans...
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.
Image: Iroquois fashion. The dude on the right has culturally-appropriated a European blanket and an iron or steel hatchet.
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.
