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.
Not all of us are disappointed, at least not in our own kids. I have my complaints about how they handle their day-to-day lives, and how they often refuse advice or choose to learn the hard way. Standard parenting stuff. Those are the same complaints my mother had. When it comes to the younger generation, if I voice a concern which I'm well aware my mom or dad could make, I recognize and account for it. Rap & Hip-Hop music, after all, can't compete with Led Zeppelin, the Beatles, or Dylan.
On the other hand, there is a reason to be disappointed when the issue revolves around responsibility and entitlement. Some claim this is a standard complaint from generation to generation. Perhaps it is, though I don't remember my parents consistently commenting about the work ethic or willingness of any of my friends to think and act responsibly. There were moments when singular behaviors led to stern conversations about smoking, or drinking and how 'kids aren't like they were'. Of course, I'd later hear my parents tell humorous stories of their own proclivities as adolescents and young adults. Some behaviors and complaints do travel across eras.
My parents taught me to work. They instilled an understanding that I'm responsible for myself, and my family, and I need to earn the income to fulfill that responsibility in a dutiful fashion. I began seeing a therapist recently to work through some job-related concerns I have. She keeps using the terms "thoughtful" and "caring" about stories I recount. I always make a face and say "it's an obligation." Maybe some of the things I do are thoughtful and caring. I prefer to think I'm living up to my obligations. Others can think what they want about my motivations. I don't consider an obligation a negative. Like all things in life, there is a price. Obligations are prices with positive feedback loops. Live up to them, and you're trustworthy and should earn a level of respect.
It is always a fun topic. I view myself as middlebrow in taste and capacity for appreciation but with aspirations to fuller and deeper appreciation of the finer things.
There are 1000 things I'd rather do than to go to a NASCAR event. Call me a snob, but it is of no interest to me although I love to drive fast and have a string of tickets and an auto insurance bill to prove it. Bread and circuses for the people? Well, I want everybody to have whatever sort of fun they choose.
The death of High Culture has been announced forever, but I don't even know what it is. Is Picasso high culture? Is Puccini high culture? (Definitely not - too much fun). Is Bob Dylan lowbrow folk-rock? Is The Messiah pop schlock? (Many feel it is, but I love it). Joseph Epstein: Whatever Happened to High Culture? An inquest
In the end, I think that such distinctions are about how generally accessible creative endeavors are, and how much instruction and thought might be useful to engage with them. Reverence towards such things is silly though, I feel. The Mona Lisa? Give me a break but OK, he was an all-round genius and genius is rare and wonderful.
Refined tastes? I can get on board with that, to a degree. There are many things in mass culture and pop culture that offend my delicate sensibilities and which seem vulgar to me, but I let it go. To each, his own. Live and let live.
For my doctors, lawyers, colleagues, and other remote pals: Holiday Cheesecakes. Would send one to our Webmeister but do not have his new address. It's old-fashioned, but who does not love getting festive food treats in the mail?
For garbage guy, $50. For mailman, $50. Gotta thank those guys personally for their work. Sure, they get paid, but I mean personally.
Then comes my list of charities which I will not list other than a plug for Salvation Army. This year, I am giving to FIRE instead of to my schools. Much better educational use of my hard-earned dollars now and in the future. All of my alma maters have gone to the dark side, and they do not need my money anyway. They have billions in the bank.
You are probably aware that "gomer" is a technical medical term for an elderly human with too many chronic medical problems, usually including cognitive decline. The female term is "gomere."
It's an acronym for "Get Out of My Emergency Room." In the classic black-humor but realistic medical memoir of an internal medicine internship (House of God - which was Mass General I believe but sort-of named after NYC's Mount Sinai), the phrase "Gomers go to ground" was popularized.
The idea is that gomers always find a way to fall - while walking, falling off a gurney, falling out of bed, having mini-strokes or heart attacks, falling off the toilet, falling out of wheelchairs, etc. Victims of gravity and decay.
If you read the book you will never want to get near a famous teaching hospital. There is plenty of sex with nurses, chaplains, and social workers, etc in it, which is sort-of an intern ritual and the gals are all hot for fresh young interns. At Amazon:
The House of God is a mesmerizing and provocative journey that takes us into the lives of Roy Basch and five of his fellow interns at the most renowned teaching hospital in the country. Young Dr. Basch and his irreverant confidant, known only as the Fat Man, will learn not only how to be fine doctors but, eventually, good human beings. Samuel Shem has done what few in American medicine have dared to do - create an unvarnished, unglorified, and amazingly forthright portrait revealing the depth of caring, pain, pathos, and tragedy felt by all who spend their lives treating patients and stand at the crossroads between science and humanity. With over two million copies sold worldwide, The House of God has been hailed as one of the most important medical novels of the twentieth century and compared to Sinclair Lewis's Arrowsmith for its poignant portrayal of the education of American doctors.
Thus I found it amusing to see this sign in La Gomeralast month (I will post my pics of La Gomera and Tenerife when I get to it):
Correction: Reader is right I think. Boston's Beth Israel.
"I bet women would like to know what men are really thinking: The Truth, the honest Truth of what men are really thinking... Cause I could tell ya! Would you like to know?! Alright I'll tell you: NOTHING!! We're not thinking anything... We're just walking around, looking around... This is the only natural inclination of Man! We're just gonna check stuff out."
Pic: The Jeronimos Monastery, Belem, Portugal last month
Economist Bill Easterly on outside experts and their terrible effects. Never trust do-gooders.
Furthermore, "poor" is a Western concept imposed on people, conceptual imperialism. Material "poverty" is normal and not necessarily a terrible thing. Same goes for power and dictatorships and kingdoms. Individual Freedom and Material Prosperity are Western ideals, not universal ideals. Are Eskimos "poor"?
Spiritual poverty is not normal. Prof. Easterly seems like a very well-intentioned fellow, but Easterly is a cultural imperialist.
This weekend we traveled from Northern NJ to Philadelphia to see my cousins. As we approached their house, I said if anyone asked, we took the regular route. She laughed. She noticed a peculiar bit of slang which seems to emanate from my Philadelphia roots. Whenever anyone in my family goes anywhere, we will usually ask "How did you get here? Did you go the back way?" Obviously "the back way" is a shortcut or some alternative route which allows you to avoid traffic or other roadblocks that typically occur on the commonly used roads.
For several years, she insisted this was a saying that was distinctly Philadelphian in nature. This seems to have been confirmed when we were speaking with several friends of ours who were from Philly and she asked "do you know what the back way means?" They all nodded and the conversation then revolved around how "the back way" is defined.
Every region has some kind of slang. In California, it seems every highway has "the" in front of it. "The 405 to the 10 to the 110" was one set of directions I used whenever I was visiting clients. Visiting Boston College, I learned not to order milkshakes or subs, but frappes and grinders.
Being from Philadelphia, it took me years to stop asking for hoagies and asking after "youse guys", but I still go "down the shore" (another phrase which drives my wife nuts - living on Long Island, she always went to the beach and despite the beach being south of her, she "went to the beach"), and "Yo" is still part of my vocabulary.
For my wife, the torture of the regional slang is only made worse by the fact I've managed to convince both my boys to enjoy certain foodstuffs, like the Philly Cheesesteak (we take ours 'wit' - never 'witout') and Taylor Pork Roll (technically a NJ thing, but a staple down the shore). Of course, neither has succumbed to my great longing for Habbersett's Scrapple, the mere mention of which causes her nose to wrinkle in disgust.
What slang and/or foods do our readers enjoy wherever they are?
- My fairly large extended (sibs and their kids) agreed years ago on a no-presents policy. That makes a family gathering more like Thanksgiving. Good. You can only bring wine or homemade cookies.
- Once kids reach 18, minimal presents. A winter coat, or boots, a book, or a framed photo, or similar. Presents are for kids. Youth will always appreciate money. though.
- I refuse to throw a Christmas party. It's just too much. Thus the Marital Veto is exercised. I am usually happy to throw a party, but not now.
- Christmas cards? They can go out late - or wait until next year. Who cares? We do not have a good family photo to use this year.
- Mrs. BD and I like to give each other a thing to do, to share, like a trip, a long-weekend away someplace nice, or an exercise program. My kids give me a stinky cheese. Perfect. When they get rich, they can give me caviar and rare stinky cheeses.
- The Tree. Mine keeps getting smaller despite protestations from the youth. Too bad. To keep it simple, I keep all of the tree ornaments in a chest in the living room, and I throw the lights in the trash every year. CVS has new.
- One party per night. Party-hopping wearies me.
- Church. We get there. It makes all the difference.
We have seen the Screwtape, and saw The Great Divorce last Sunday. On Sunday afternoon, the Divorce sold out.
After the matinee, I strolled around a festive 10th Ave (photo) and met a daughter at Marseille for cocktails and supper.
In that area, we are partial to the cozy (but loud) West Bank Cafe but Marseille was excellent.
After early supper, said daughter and I took a long walk around midtown. Not shopping, just walking around and discussing film scripts - and whether a good plot can be dumped into any setting, in any point in time - past, present, or future.
We agreed that it can. Plot first, setting second. The story is the meat, the setting is the flavoring. That might be wrong in many cases, though. Star Wars, for example, and other spectacle-centered productions don't need interesting plots.
Manhattan at Christmastime is festive, jammed, and merry. Just plain wonderful. That's the setting: the plot is the birth of Jesus.
I have noticed the same tendency in myself on occasion, and hated myself for it. Some self-loathing can be the price of self-knowledge. It is easier to forgive the faults and flaws of others than one's own.
As a seasoned Psychiatrist, he ought to know the signs but few can doctor themselves. Listen to the tone of this post: And Death Shall Have Its Dominion
Maybe he should not have retired, but that's what Brits do. It's their culture, to be pensioners. His post-retirement career, as commenter and thinker, has been a fine contribution to the world.
I know what he needs, and it's not pills. He needs to get to the gym and to begin working out hard. Rage, rage....One hour of intense physical effort daily is good for attitude and mental health, and fends off the feeling of aging along with some of its physical effects.
Pic is the gym at our hotel last month in Puerto de la Cruz after we disembarked: the comfortable Hotel Botanico. After we hiked all over town for four hours, I spent a "relaxing" hour and a half in there before dinner. Nice gym. No gym music.
Cardio plus total body stress - and fat-destruction if needed. Masochist that I am, and over 45, I like the stress and mental challenge of total body calisthenics. They do not build strength, but they require that you build strength to do them. They build fitness and endurance, and it feels good when you stop. If you can breathe. Humbling, painful, and a source of despair. Good stuff.
Notice how prosperous people in the US look strong and trim into their 70s and 80s? It's not automatic. They work at it to stay fit for life, and they do not pig out despite wanting to give in to comfortable slobbery like the last generation. Giving up on vitality because of lack of will and effort (aka laziness). Sex life, too.
Jumping rope and jumping jacks are great calisthenics that belong in any fitness routine, but it's the heavier, intense ones that test your body and character, that try to kill you. What fails to kill you makes you fitter.
My program (and Mrs. BD's program which is roughly the same but she does yoga too) includes 3 sets of squat/presses, or burpees, or heavy ball smashes, or lunges with weights, or step-ups with presses - all with planks between sets. That's a Superset. Looks easy but it's a killer. Doing 3 sets of one or more of the above five days/week adds good intensity and variety to a fitness program. Thing is, you have to push it to the limit and that takes mental discipline because it is HARD WORK and IT HURTS and YOU WANT TO STOP. Thus the character factor.
No pain, no gain.
Right now, for example, I do the squat-presses with a 30 lb. heavy ball. If you can easily do 20 reps, raise the weight and God bless. Take a 1-minute plank to "rest" between sets and get right back to it.
(nb, As I have said, we do mainly heavy weights 2 days/wk for an hour, heavy calisthenics 1 day/wk for an hour, and cardio intervals 4 days/wk for 40-70 minutes depending on how much time I have free. To ramp up intensity, my boss wants 3 of any one of these supersets daily. Call me insane. It pays off. I fit into my age 32 tux except the shoulders are tight now. If it kills me, I'll be a fit corpse.)
I understand the historical reasons that Christmas is on the winter solstice/Saturnalia in western Christianity, but I'd like it later. That's just one thing. Most of my grinchiness has to do with the feeling of pressure to pack everything in. I hate pressure and hassle, love serenity.
- Mid-winter gets dreary in New England unless you ski a lot, or go away. A later Christmastime would brighten it all up. They say Jesus was probably born in April anyway.
- We are not too big on giving presents at Christmastime at the Maggie's HQ now that the kids are older - and my extended family has banned them. How about if we all agree to quit with the gift-giving or just limit it to home-made jam, cookies, and pies or a bottle of something, and honor the season by getting together, singing carols, and with gifts to charities and churches? As a compromise, keep kids' stockings for chocolates and candy canes and things like that. Maybe some cash for the older ones.
- Last year, Mrs. BD's present to me was Torture: A trainer 3 days/wk and a 6 day/wk exercise program. Some gift! I have stuck with it, though. She likes to feel the bulging muscle and appreciates the lack of fatigue climbing mountains. A year of squats with presses? At 5 am? Lovely gift!
- Which is worse? Putting the decorations all around the house, or taking them down in a few weeks and packing them away?
- Which is worse? Dragging in and putting up a live dead pagan tree with all of the family mementos on it, or getting rid of it before it burns the house down? (I simplified some of this chore years ago by keeping all tree stuff in drawers in the parlor.)
- Outdoor Christmas lights. They all seem to commit suicide while being stored in the attic, but not before they writhe around in the dark to create annoying tangles. Yes, they are cheery though. I keep mine lit all through January because of the trouble, and just throw them in the trash after.
- Christmas Cards. OK, they are a good way to stay in touch with people we care about. But there is so little time in which to do it, and you have to find a decent photo. Plus updating one's address book is a major pain. We've missed a year or two, and I hope nobody took it personally...
- Parties. Too many, too jammed together. A normal fellow wants just so much social festivities, like one per week - and not more. Party-hopping to fulfill obligations is not really fun, but more like a duty. It is not misanthropy - if I were willing to drink more, it might be jollier. Must admit, though, I do like to touch base with all of my pals, fellow-church people, colleagues, and acquaintances at Christmastime. It might not happen much, otherwise.
- Charity events. Why do so many of them now? Well, having run a large conservation charity for about 12 years (as a semi-involuntary volunteer), I know why: people feel more generous and more festive now - and drink more. So it's about $.
- Mrs. BD has, and goes to, all of these festive Christmas teas and luncheons. I think that's great because guys are not invited. I believe she is in charge of a big fancy luncheon today with dressed-up ladies and carols and, if I heard her right, Santa hats or reindeer horns required to make it less stuffy. You can get them at CVS. Sorry to inform the loony campus feministas, but normal ladies still like to get dolled up for Christmas luncheons and teas, and to enjoy a cocktail or two with their buddies.
- Just one black-tie event per Christmas season is plenty. I will resist two.
- Wife says "Hey, BD, let's throw a casual party here on the Saturday before Christmas. We can invite 70 or 80 of our best friends, and get a pianist." Sheesh. Great idea, in theory. Do I have to vacuum and move furniture?
Does the idea of baby Jesus mean a lot to me? You betcha. To me, it means the promise of a birth, or re-birth, of the spirit of Christ in my heart. There is great power, great significance, in that. I really do come from Yankee Puritan stock, and I guess some of that sticks.
I agree with this guy. There is much to be pissed off today in the land of the free, home of the brave. America was never meant to be a place where people lived in fear of their "public servants."
Northern Italy has long been a major manufacturer of silk fabric. Marco Polo, the Silk Road, the crusades, etc. Later, Italians migrated to operate the great silk mills in towns like Paterson, NJ.
In Florence, the Antico Setificio Fiorentino since 1786. Their warp technology invented by Leonardo. Two cool videos.
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I understand the historical reasons that Christmas is on the winter solstice/Saturnalia in western Christianity, but I'd like it later. That's just one thing. Most of my grinchiness has to do with the feeling of pressure to pack everything in. I hate pressure and hassle, love serenity. 
