Bluster/Blaster, and How Lame is the Duck? (24 cents)

Does Putin think that the US is unable to respond to its expansionist moves because we have a lame-duck administration, and an upcoming election?  (Hint:  the answer is ‘yes’)

Does Israel think that the US in unable to restrain an attack against Iran’s nuclear facilities because we have a lame-duck administration, and an upcoming election?  (Hint: the answer is less clear because, in this case, the duck may not be so lame, and may in fact be encouraging the attack on two grounds: first, that an Obama administration may be better able to restrain, and second, that an attack now, putting much of the world in jeopardy, would help the Republicans in the election)

Is Putin bluster, or is Russia a blaster?  Is Olmert bluster, or is Olmert (read: Mofaz) a blaster?

Hurricane Gustav’s hit on the American shore seems inevitable and unstoppable.  Sometimes, the right wing movements of the Russian and Israeli governments seem equally inevitable.

Failin’ with Palin?

I got a cute email forwarded to me by a friend.  It was a make believe conversation between John McCain and a top advisor.  The advisor told McCain that everything was now set with Sarah Palin to be the vice presidential candidate.  “Pahlin”, said McCain, shocked.  “Who is she?”, he responded with exasperation, “I said Pawlenty, not Pahlin.  You know, the first term governor from the northern state.”  The aid agreed, “yes, the first term governor from the northern state, Palin”.  McCain responds that this Sarah Palin is clearly not qualified to be vice president, and asks the aid to apologize to her for the confusion.  The aid tells McCain that it’s already been arranged, it’s too late for that, a public announcement has been made…….

It will be interesting to see what happens, to be sure, but if Sarah Palin becomes the 45th president of the United States, the curse will continue:  we will live in interesting times.

Facebook, Blogs, Email Accounts, Blackberry, Diary, Calendar (8 cents)

Newspapers, magazines, mail, emails, books, pamphlets.  Conversations.  Gyms, walks, weights.

Whew.  No wonder I don’t have time to go to work very much any more.

The Democractic Speeches

I thought that Hillary Clinton gave a fine speech last night, as did Mark Warner, who gave the Keynote Address.  But don’t over look Ohio Governor Ted Strickland, and especially don’t overlook Montana Governor Brian Schweitzer, who would be my choice for keynote speaker any day.  I assume that you can find all these addresses on the web somewhere.

The best line, though, was Governor Ed Rendell’s, when he said something like:  “they used to say that President Bush’s father had an easy time of it, that when he became President, he was already on third base.  Well, the current President Bush was on third base at the start of his term, too, and then he proceeded to steal second.”

Second best was HC’s jibe about McCain and Bush being so hard to tell apart that it is appropriate that the Republican convention be held in the Twin Cities.

Too many speeches, but all in all not a bad night in front of the TV.

Hilaire Belloc and Sunny (was it worth reading the books? is it worth reading this posting?)

Several weeks ago, I came across a copy of Da Chen’s Colors of the Mountain, which he had boldly inscribed in Chinese characters.  I bought it and put it on a shelf.

Last week, I bought for 50 cents a softcover copy of a book called Mona Lisa Awakening, signed by the author, who goes by the single name Sunny.  “On the dark side of the moon lies passion, hunger — and danger”, said the cover.  Well, I bought it because it was only 50 cents, and signed, and in decent shape, and looked like it might be intriguing.

Sunny, I thought, who can that be?  Well, it turns out that Sunny is Da Chen’s wife, and a physician who lives with her family in New York, and who has written several books now, which must form sort of a series (I am not going to read the others).

And the book itself?  I think it is written for women, not men.  I could see women who feel themselves too old for “Cosmopolitan” reading Mona Lisa.  It is science fiction, with emigres from the moon masquerading as humans, having strange powers (powers of healing, powers of shape-changing and so on) and in fact living in their own closed society, with strange rivalries and power centers, and even stranger social mores.  It is fantasy, of course.  It is romance (the lead character, a half-“monere”, is a very romantic young woman).  It is epic.  It is eroticism.  It is quick reading.  It is certainly adventure.  It is a battle of the sexes.  It is a cat fight between powerful women, queens of the monere, who battle more to keep the loyalty of their male servants than for any other reason.  And their male servants serve them in many different ways.

So, reading it was an experience. Reading my next book, But Soft, We are Observed, by Hilaire Belloc, was much less of an experience.  I have heard of Belloc, of course, but I don’t think I could have told you anything about him.  I certainly could not have told you that he was one of the most prolific and widely read of English authors (French father, English mother) of the first part of the last century.

I have the Penguin edition of this book, which was written in the 1920s but set in the 1970s.  Not really science fiction, just set 50 years ahead.  Its genre could best be described, I think, as political humor.  And I guess the setting, if not the characters or the nature of society, show a great deal of prescience.

There is a little country called West Irania, which has a certain metal which is needed to build certain machines that are essential to the maintenance of global society, and there is great competition to get a “concession” for these resources from the West Iranian government, competition between both governments and private interests.  A certain individual has the authority to grant/sell the concession, but does not want to be bombarded by would be suitors, so he deftly throws the suitors of the trail by putting them on the trail of a young Cuban/American who is escaping notariety and a bad love affair.  The book is the story of these various interests trying to get the young man (who is completely clueless) to give them the rights to the West Iranian treasure.  At the end, the mystery is solved, the young man paid to keep quiet (and not embarrass the British government and its female prime minister), and the British get the concession from the rightful emissary of West Irania.

On a higher note, I read a review this morning in line of several books about 17th century English diarist Samuel Pepys.  The review was on the website of the Dublin Review of Books (www.dbr.ie), and I commend it to you.  One of the things I learned is that the diary was kept in a kind of shorthand/code to keep its contents secret and it was willed to the British Museum along with the rest of Pepys’ large library, where it sat for almost 200 years without anyone knowing of its existence.

The Influence of the Washington Post

It was a beautiful weekend, just right for a long walk or hike.  The ‘weekend’ section of the Post had, as its cover article, a description of a 9 mile “urban hike”, which it conveniently divided into 5 separate and distinct sections, suggesting that one following this route would see interesting parts of the city that the tourist, and perhaps the resident, would not normally see.  The last segment, between Rock Creek Park and Ft. Reno Park, would bring the walkers right by the front of our house.

What to do?  Stand outside with bottles of water?  Have a yard sale?  Put together a lemonade stand?

Luckily, we did none of the above.  I don’t think that anyone walked by our house all weekend (except for the regulars).

The influence of the Washington Post.

Six Suits (1 cent)

Six Suits.  Thrown out today from my closet because of small moth holes.  Six.

Some say that Haydn didn’t reall write 104 symphonies (one cent)

But that instead, he wrote the same symphony 104 times.

Did Woody Allen direct 44 movies, or did he direct the same movie 44 times?

Seeing Vicky Cristina Barcelona, one must wonder.  This movie is pure, unadulterated Woody Allen.

Which means it is not bad, and not that good, either, by my book.  Barcelona and environs are beautiful, the guitar score is very enjoyable, and Rebecca Hall and Javier Bardem both did great jobs.  Penelope Cruz did a good job as well, although her character seemed to be pretty typical for Penelope Cruz.  And Scarlett Johansson?  Well, let’s just say that maybe this was not the role for her.

The plot?  Silly, of course, with all these pretty young people loving the wrong people and getting very mixed up with each other.  Lessons to be learned?  Perhaps for the very young.

“You Need to Polish Your Shoes”

These are the words I heard from my wife as we left the house this morning.  And, I knew it was true, even before I looked down at my brown loafers.  But it got me thinking.

I don’t remember worrying about whether my shoes were polished when I was small, but I assume my mother made sure that that they were.  But who polished them, my father?  I have no idea.

By high school, I think shoe polishing became my own responsibility.  I remember having a nice collection of Kiwi polishes (I don’t think I knew what a kiwi was then), and brushes and shammies (is that what they were called?).  And I think that, before I went out on weekends, at least, I would touch up my shoes if they needed them.

But I also think I am forgetting the barber shop. I think that when I got my hair cut as a teenager, there would be a shoe shine man in the barber shop, and I would take advantage of him.

Then came college.  In the early 1960s, strange as it may now sound, Harvard Square was teeming with shoe shine boys.  Young, black boys, holding wooden shoeshine kits, would tag along with you, and pester you for a 5 cent shine and, every now and then, you would say OK.  Nice kids, and you sort of felt like you were helping the kids out, too.  And you never had to shine your own shoes.

Then law school and, like so much of what happened at law school, I don’t remember shoe polishing.  It is possible that, for three years, they never did get a fresh shine.  Possible (not likely).

Then the army.  Shoes and boots.  There, polishing became one of my main required tasks.  Daily, I believe.  The shoes looked good, and I got pretty good at it.  (Much to my dismay, I now understand that army shoes are treated to remain shiny, and elbow grease is no longer required.)

In the 40 or so years following basic training, with few exceptions, I would polish my shoes only when absolutely necessary.  Yes, there were times when at airports, or shopping malls, or hotels, there would be someone who shined shoes.  And, there was a period of two or three years when John shined shoes in front of my office building, until he died of a lingering cancer from which he suffered.

But today, until my wife gave me her reminder, I forget about shining my shoes except on those rare occasions when I need to get dressed up and naturally look to see how bad the scuffs really are that day.  Or when I happen to walk by a shoeshiner just when I know I need polish and I think I have enough cash in my pocket.  (No longer 5 cents, of course; lucky when I shine is only 5 dollars,)

I still have my collection of kiwis.  But they are antiques, and when you pry open the tops, you are hard pressed to identify the contents as shoe polish.  And the brushes are old and ragged. And the cloths are stained by decades old stains.  Polishing is no longer as central as it used to be, I guess.

I am going to try harder.

Why Are We Doing It? (ten cents)

That is the big question (shorthand).  Longhand, it is “Why are we watching so much of the Olympics”?

Last night started out OK, with the Nats/Phillies game on while we had supper and after.  But then when the game was over, we switched to NBC.  At first, it was OK.  Women’s diving, men’s 400 meters, men’s hurdles, and so forth.  But then it got a bit sketchier, as it went to BMX cycling (first women, then men).  But it was fun to watch (except for when the bikes which, in bost races, crashed and it looked like the drivers were dead or at least maimed).  And then came, of all things, men’s beach volleyball.  Come on, who would watch that?  We did, although the game wasn’t over until 12:30 a.m.  Why did we do that?

And, beyond that, why am I watching the Cuba – US baseball game as a write this post?

I can’t imagine.