omnem movere lapidem

btsflk

2011-10-25T14:54:00.000-07:00

Here iss a hot, stimmy gritting from Yoshua Treeshua.

Why doan you open it?

No! ¿Why doan CHEW?!

BTSFLK!

Illustration by Matt Williams, dba überkraaft.

--30--

the theocrat

2011-08-14T13:08:00.000-07:00

Writing in this week's New Yorker, Ryan Lizza tells how Michele and Marcus Bachmann while still in college fell under the influence of Christian dominionist author and film-maker Francis Schaeffer, who produced a film series, "How Shall We Then Live?"

Schaeffer died in 1984, but one of his disciples, Nancy Pearcy, carried on his work.

When, in 2005, the Minneapolis Star Tribune asked Bachmann what books she had read recently, she mentioned two: Ann Coulter’s “Treason,” a jeremiad that accuses liberals of lacking patriotism, and Pearcey’s “Total Truth,” which Bachmann told me was a “wonderful” book.

(Read more.)

Ryan Lizza also reports that in a recent Iowa speech, Bachmann asked the audience if they were familiar wth "How Then Should We Live?" and when greeted with applause, said:

That also was another profound influence on Marcus’s life and my life, because we understood that the God of the Bible isn’t just about Bible stories and about Bible knowledge, or about just church on Sunday. He is the Lord of all of life. Every bit of life, including sociology, theology, biology, politics. You name the area and walk of life. He is the Lord of life. And so, as we went back to our studies, we looked at studying in a completely different light. Not for the purpose of a career but for a purpose of wondering, How does this fit into creation? How does this fit into the code and all of life that is about to come in front of us? And so we had new eyes that were opened up as we understood life now from a Biblical world view.

Sounds like theocracy to me.

--30--

the sun's light

2011-08-06T11:45:00.000-07:00

What follows is an edited version of a post which first appeared here on February 13, 2009.

The wise man Patanjali, the apocryphal transmitter of early yoga tradition, spoke of a "seer," or that part of us which sees, and taught that the right kind of mental discipline would establish (or reveal) this seer "in our own true nature." The discipline, according to the teaching, will enable a person "to see clearly."

The ancient Indian texts called the Upanishads identify this seer as Atman, also called the self, "hidden in every object of creation," being "the very Self which descends down...through self-projection and participates." According to this view, then, the center of the human being (or any other living thing) is the supreme being itself, incorporating itself into, the individual.

This sounds very much like the "collective unconscious" theory of Dr. Jung, who wrote that "A more or less superficial layer of the unconscious (i.e., subconscious mind) is undoubtedly personal. I call it the 'personal unconscious.' But this personal layer rests upon a deeper layer, which does not derive from personal experience and is not a personal acquisition but is inborn. This deeper layer I call the 'collective unconscious.' I have chosen the term 'collective' because this part of the unconscious is not individual but universal..." (S.V. Wikiquote: Carl Jung, en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Carl_Jung)

Not everyone agrees. Prince Gautama, who became the Buddha, did not believe in a Self separate from the individual, and taught that "Self is but a heap of composite qualities." He believed that what some call the Self or Seer is a bundle of loose ends, and simply another component of the individual.

But for our purposes, defining this part of our brain we see with as God or not-God is not important. What's at issue is the possibility of seeing "clearly," which both Patanjali and the Buddha agree is only possible by overcoming our social conditioning. William Blake expressed this same idea when he wrote that "The sun's light, when he unfolds it / Depends on the organ that beholds it."

This is all very deep stuff, and confusing to one not used to thinking in terms which can only seem abstract until experience has made them concrete. I find myself referring to something I heard my grand-teacher say about the G-word (God) when he expressed his preference for simply lumping all notions of Atman, Self, God, etc. under the phrase "that which never changes." What he's saying is that our attention, as distinct from that upon which the attention is directed, never changes.

The analogy I use to illustrate this principle is a goldfish bowl, which holds fish, water, plants, pebbles, and dirt. The contents of the bowl are the objects of attention, and the bowl is the attention itself. If your mind perceives goldfish in the bowl, you're perceiving accurately. If you see piranhas, you're misperceiving, and if you see miniature sea monsters, you're imagining. If you see not the goldfish swimming in the bowl but the ones who used to swim there and are now departed, you're remembering. And if you see nothing, you're asleep.

But if you empty the bowl and wipe it clean, and allow it to remain empty, avoiding both the temptation and the tendency to fill it with this or that, then there will be nothing to occupy the attention but the attention itself, which unlike its constantly-changing contents, never changes. It's always transparent and reflects accurately, like a clean mirror.

Since beginning a yoga practice I've attempted with limited success to empty my mind's attention of its contents. Changes in the mind have occurred, and I sometimes see things in my mind's eye that I don't understand. Also, life, and even the most mundane daily events, sometimes seem extremely strange and unfamiliar. I'm sure this is some sort of manifestation of the practice. I guess there's nothing to do but go on with it.

--30--

The Lion Sleeps

2011-07-30T08:43:00.000-07:00

"The Lion Sleeps Tonight," recorded by the doo-wop group The Tokens in 1961, shot to number one on the pop charts immediately on its release. Part of the song's appeal was its uniqueness, and it certainly sounded completely different from any other American pop music of that or any other time.

Very few people were aware that the Tokens' hit was a cover, and that earlier versions had been done by the Kingston Trio, in 1959, and Pete Seeger's folk revival group The Weavers, in 1952. The Weavers' version had actually gone all the way to number six on the Billboard Top 100, but pop music fans tend to have short memories.

Virtually nobody was aware of the song's South African origins, even when, in 1994, it gained renewed popularity after Ladysmith Black Mambazo recorded it for Disney's animated feature "The Lion King," using its original title, "Mbube." The success of this latter-day version, which was incorporated in a live Broadway musical and a TV series, generated millions of dollars in revenue for Disney and a lawsuit by the dirt-poor descendents of the song's author, Solomon Linda, and the back story of "The Lion Sleeps" finally began to circulate.

Linda, at far left in the photo above, was born in 1909 in South Africa and wrote "Mbube" in the '20's. He was working as a cleaner and record packer for the Gallo Record Company in Roodepoort, South Africa in 1939 when he got the opportunity to record the tune with his vocal group, The Evening Birds. It was a hit in South Africa, selling over 100,000 copies, but Solomon Linda was paid only a small recording fee and sold the rights to the song to Gallo for a pittance. He enjoyed regional success as a singer and songwriter for some years thereafter, but died impoverished in 1962.

In about 1950 the American musicologist Alan Lomax discovered the recording and shared it with his friend Pete Seeger, whose subsequent concert and recorded versions were titled "Wimoweh," a mishearing of the song's Zulu refrain "Uyimbube" (You are a lion).

I became aware of the song's origins in the early 90's when I heard it on the CD "The Secret Museum of Mankind: Ethnic Music Classics; Vol. 4, 1925-48" on the Yazoo label. No American version that I'm aware of conveys the powerful and extremely African essence of the original, in which Linda used three bass singers in his back-up chorus.

If you want to learn more, see the excellent Wikipedia articles "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" and "Solomon Linda."

--30--

china is kicking our butts

2011-07-23T06:47:00.000-07:00

China tested their new Beijing to Shanghai bullet train last month. They're griping about how much it cost them, but people everywhere and at all times gripe about the cost of things.

We could be building trains like this in this country, and there was a time not so long ago when we would have. Building infrastructure that looks to the future is an investment. One inter-city train project would put thousands of people to work.

Anyway, that's what the Chinese are doing. But we're too busy debating whether or not we should fail, and become a deadbeat to even recognize that there is something called the future.

The train is powered by electricity, and its 5 hour run to Shanghai takes about half as long as a conventional train.

I took a train from Portland to Seattle a few days ago, and it was great! Unlike flying, taking the train is actually fun.

--30--

clock with sphinx, cards, miscellaneous

2011-07-16T14:07:00.000-07:00

The mantel clock was manufactured in New York City by the Ansonia Clock Company, probably between 1879 and 1920. It was the kind of mass-produced "luxury" item available in the popular mail-order catalogs of the day, such as those distributed by Sears and Roebuck and the St. Louis Hardware Company.

It's a study in contrasts: the extraordinary late-Victorian ugliness of the clock body seems not to belong to the beautiful cast-iron figure of Calliope, the muse of epic poetry with her wax tablet and stylus.

The face of double-headed iron sphinx looks remarkably like that of a Czech gangster I knew in my youth, a hoodlum named Dennis. It was most likely the ornamental top piece for a now-departed large clock.

The Victorian composition is completed by the inclusion of "fortune-telling cards," popular at the time.

Photo and images on cards created by Dave b and © 2011 by Daveb, Horney, and Smeavey Productions.

Click for bigger.

--30--

Rap

2011-07-09T11:02:00.000-07:00

I always thought I didn't like rap at all, and I can still do without most of it. All the posing and gratuitous cussing are, well, adolescent bullshit, if you really wanna know.

I always thought it was mostly just the sound of it I didn't like, but either I was wrong or tastes change.

First I rediscovered the politico-socio-psychological work of Oaktown Mike Franti and the Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy.

And then, quite by accident, I stumbled across the Polish rapper Dongularesko and his sidekick Dj Kostek doing "5 Chinek."

What's a chinek? Is it currency? I have no idea what this guy is rapping in Polish about except when he says 'Bam bam bam," but I love the sound. It's that synth-loop melody that drives it, I think, a combination of Middle East and old-time carnival carousel.

Listen!

--30--

What it Is

2011-07-02T14:30:00.001-07:00

A Very Short History of the US since the Turn of the Century

What it is, cats and kitties? The prelude to the new century, the pro-log as it were, was good old Bill and the good times. We knew it was too good to last. Besides everybody workin and makin money, there was the stuff that was just good plain fun, you know, spunk on a blue dress and all that really hilarious "We gotcha, you pervert!" shit that made everybody's Aunt Anna gasp and clutch at her pearls.

But then it was 2000, and Bill's curtain call where he said "Bye, y'all. I gotta go now. Last one to leave, turn out the lights."

Then came darkness followed by a hangover, then came Bush. And his merry band of mentally deranged palsied harlequin mummers, such as Donald Rumsfeld and Paul "Smellysox" Wolfowitz.

Under Bush, everything became dreadful. It was still a great country to live in, but only if you were the "right" kind of person.

So we spent the greater part of the first 10 years of the new century in a kind of mental and spiritual gulag, relieved only by occasional outbursts of catastrophe, such as first, 9/11, then the war(s), and finally the bubble bust and collapse. But now, something rather odd has happened.

So along comes (ta da) Mr. Wonderful, that nice young black guy who didn't even sound or act anything like Bill O'Reilly's stereotype of how a nice young black guy is supposed to sound or act. And he was all like, "Hopey," and "Changey," so a lot of people said, "Hey, why not? Things might get a little better, and I sure as hell don't see how they could get worse," so went to bed and to sleep.

Then we woke up to a new day, same old shit. End of story.

And the moral of the story is: Bad situations get worse when they remain the same because they start to look like forever.

--30--

bouquet & brickbat

2011-06-26T10:24:00.000-07:00

If I knew her name and address I would send a bouquet to the property owner who hired Seattle muralist David Heck to decorate the oft-graffiti'd blank wall of this vacant building she owns at 105th and Aurora, on the border between my neighborhood and those to the east.

Her thinking is that even spray-paint vandals and would-be street artists will respect competent artistry enough to bypass this location, and she's probably about 90 percent right.

The mural, still a work in progress, takes us on a nostalgic drive down old Highway 99 (Aurora Avenue) as it was during the golden age of our car-centric society, when the automobile was an object of veneration and symbol of liberation rather than an odious impediment to progress, as it is more accurately viewed today. Heck included some still-existing landmarks such as the elephant, eye-catching enough to have survived over a storefront through many changes in ownership and function, and the Klose-Inn Motel, which still offers rooms although it has seen better days.

Most of what you see here, however, is long gone; the beloved Twin Teepees Restaurant is just a memory, the Chubby and Tubby hardware store is a now a used furniture, junk mart, and eyesore called "Stupid Prices," and Playland, the amusement park which stood on the shore of Bitter Lake, was demolished many years ago.

I have mixed feelings about celebrating the advent of something as incredibly destructive of the natural environment, the urban landscape, and social relationships as the car has proved to be, but I suppose it's best viewed as a celebration of innocence. Forty years ago we sat in our gas guzzlers gulping down burgers and fries without the slightest apprehension of what we were doing to ourselves or others. In those days, the answer to too many cars was seen as more of the same -- more and bigger roads, and everybody believed the tremendous traffic jams along Aurora/99 would be solved by building Interstate 5 through town. They were right in a way; Aurora is now a pleasant if somewhat scenically ugly drive most of the time, while I-5 is the largest parking lot in the state.

If I knew the name and address of the owner of this blight on the neighborhood at 107th and Greenwood, I would throw a brickbat at his car, which I strongly suspect is a Cadillac Escalade. I don't know how long this pestiferous blot has stood in its present condition; it was abandoned and trashed when I moved here over a year and a half ago. Why the city has failed to condemn and seize this property as a public hazard and eyesore is beyond me. The "For Sale" sign is still on it, along with a public notice that hearings to assess the environmental impact of erecting a four-storey apartment complex with shops on the ground floor have recently concluded. So there's hope, but the wheels of civic improvement grind extraordinarily slowly.

And it's the automobile (again) that's responsible for this affront to the community festering for years. People driving by it at 40-plus miles an hour don't notice it enough to care. How long do you think such an insult to civic pride would be allowed to stand if all those drivers had to walk past it every day?

Photos by Catboxer. Click on them for larger views; click a second time for even greater embiggening.

--30--

D-generation

2011-06-20T14:56:00.000-07:00

June 20, 2011

Dear AARP:

I've been an AARP member for 17 years, but am now resigning from the organization effective immediately.

This was not an easy decision, but considering the AARP's recent announcement that its leadership is now considering cooperating with bipartisan (but chiefly Republican) plans to reduce Social Security benefits to future recipients by raising the full retirement age, I feel I have no choice.

In the wake of the June 17 Wall Street Journal story which announced the AARP's change of position, a spokeswoman for the organization declared that "our position has not changed," when it clearly had. All subsequent AARP pronouncements on this matter have been vague and nebulous, rather than expressed in the language of what was once a vigorous and committed advocacy group for older Americans.

It seems to me that AARP should now be signaling total opposition to this bipartisan sellout, agitating for a restoration of the full retirement age to 65, and turning up the heat on Congress to pass a much-needed cost-of-living increase for 2011, one which would be retroactive to include 2010.

Paying lip service to politicians' attempts to short-change and eventually gut the most successful social program in the country's history indicates the AARP's new willingness to play along with the economic falsehoods we're subjected to daily, courtesy of the corporate-owned mass media. It gives credence to the notion that the need to reduce the debt is the country's most pressing problem (it's not; mass unemployment is), that "austerity" is the way out of recession (it isn't; spending on jobs is), and most ludicrous of all, that Social Security is in trouble, when even an oligarch like Alan Simpson will admit under pressure that the trouble is 26 years away.

For the last 30 years, our bribed-and-paid-for political establishment has been vigorously engaged in attempting to funnel all this country's wealth from the working classes upward, into the hands and pockets of a corporate plutocracy in whose service they labor, and with great success if the income distribution numbers are to be believed. Any advocacy organization for older and retired, working-class Americans must take a clear and uncompromising stand against this trend and its proponents. Searching for "common ground" with fat cats and Republican ideologues sends exactly the wrong message.

We had a saying back in the sixties: You're either part of the problem or part of the solution. The AARP's leadership urgently needs to do some deep soul searching.

Sincerely,
David T Brice
Former Member #--- --- --- -

cc: Editor, Seattle Times

Photo: President Roosevelt signs Social Security into law in August of 1935.

--30--

high water everywhere

2011-06-18T10:07:00.001-07:00

Lord, the whole round country,
Lord, river has overflowed;
Lord, the whole round country,
man, is overflowed;

(You know I can't stay here,
I'll go where it's high, boy)

I would go to the hilly country,
but, they got me barred.

--Charlie Patton
High Water Everywhere, Part I

Charlie was singing about the great flood of '27, and probably never imagined there could be a worse one, like the flood of 2011.

One of the differences is the historically record-setting high level of the Missouri River as well as the Mississippi. Another is that the flood of 1927 drew massive newspaper and radio coverage, while today's disaster has so far been covered minimally, if it all.

This begs the bigger question of why the most significant and worthy stories are frequently buried by the corporate media, which instead of reporting them emphasizes shiny objects with personal-interest value, such as Tony Weiner's Excellent Adventure. Jim Kunstler says the national media is being held hostage by Little Caylee.

The biggest story of all is the national media itself, now owned and tightly controlled by the same corporatist influences which have total control over everything that happens in "the village" (Washington, D.C.). So even though the Times ran a story about the Missouri River flood, it was buried in the Greenwire blog of the Business Section, nowhere near page one. And it's not a very good story because it concentrates mainly on the Corps of Engineers response to the flood and politicians' criticisms of the
Corps, rather than the magnitude and significance of the disaster itself.

There's probably some decent reporting on it in the localities where the disaster is occurring (I'll check some of those out today) as well as unofficial places such as blogs and Facebook pages maintained by residents in the affected areas. I've seen some pictures from local sources, and they're scary as hell.

The corporate media is making every effort to downplay and suppress news of the Great Flood of 2011, since reporting it would clearly inform people that global warming is now a life-and-death situation for us, and broadcasting the news would cause unrest. People would start to put two and two together and recognize the situation we're in, and maybe begin to wish they had the terrorists back again as their main worry. Better they should be distracted by Tony's weiner, Kim's wedding, and the trial of Little Caylee's mom.

The Missouri River at Omaha. AP/Sioux City Journal photo by Jim Lee.

--30--

the monolith

2011-06-11T06:38:00.000-07:00

Here is the monolith, the beating heart of our contemporary civilization, if we can call it that.

All the organs of government and order but one are housed here. The two top floors are occupied by the Ministry of Truth (Minitru), and are where the templates from which the contents of all mass media -- television, movies, print, and cyberspace -- are hammered out then disseminated. These templates are the raw material of what is commonly called "the Matrix."

The two middle floors include all the operations of the Ministry of Plenty (Miniplenty), and encompass departments as diverse as the Full Employment Wing and the Abundant Retirement Administration.

The ground floor and basements are taken up by the Ministry of Love (Miniluv), where you will find the notorious Room 101 in the deepest sub-basement, hidden away from the eyes of the world due to the overwhelming amount of love constantly dispensed there.

The blank facade of the monolith has shoved aside and rendered obsolete the human face of the old paternalistic social order, with its feudal hierarchies and quaint, polytheistic Christianity, replacing them with the uncompromising monotheism of total devotion to Moloch, whose name is Profit.

Only one ministry, Minipax, is housed outside the monolith, in its own five-sided building. So vast is the domain of Minipax that it constitutes almost a separate nation on its own, for there is much peace to dispense, both domestically and throughout the world. The foundation and global reach of this colossal and remarkable institution will be the topic of another essay.

--30--

defending your rights

2011-06-04T05:30:00.000-07:00

The fourth amendment to the U.S. Constitution guarantees citizens the right "to be secure in their persons, papers, and houses." Unfortunately, it doesn't confer a right for us to be secure in our electronic transmissions, since those things didn't exist at the time the Bill of Rights was embedded in our law.

"What does it mean" asks the social agitator and journalist Naomi Wolf, "to live in a society in which surveillance is omnipresent?"

It means, she continues, A concerted effort is underway in the US – and in the United Kingdom – to “brand” surveillance as positive. New York City subway passengers are now advised that they might experience random searches of their bags. Activists in America are now accustomed to assuming that their emails are being read and their phone calls monitored. Indeed, the telecom companies Verizon and AT&T have established areas on their premises for eavesdropping activity by the National Security Agency.

The paranoia of a government which conducts blanket surveillance of its citizens is obvious, and it's the reason why a pacifist/anarchist like Scott Crow of Austin, Texas ends up on the FBI's "domestic terrorism" watch list.

Besides monitoring all his phone calls and e-mails, government agencies closely watch Crow's house for any potential acts of terrorism that may be committed by his housemate, his pair of backyard goats, his flock of chickens, his turkey or his vegetables, or possibly enacted through some nefarious use of the solar panels on his roof.

In an article in the May 23, 2011 New Yorker, the award-winning political journalist Jane Mayer details the emergence of a vast new security bureaucracy, in which at least two and a half million people hold confidential, secret, or top-secret clearances; huge expenditures on electronic monitoring, along with a reinterpretation of the law in order to sanction it; and corporate partnerships with the government that have transformed the counterterrorism industry into a powerful lobbying force.

Considering the circumstances in which we now find ourselves, it becomes obvious that the Bill of Rights notwithstanding, the only rights we truly possess are those we're capable of defending.

With this in mind, I've recently cut back my presence on the internet by about 75 percent. I post here once a week and check my e-mails, but I no longer visit Facebook or post on the discussion boards at BeliefNet, since those places, besides being subject to government snooping, are under constant surveillance by armies of advertisers, con men, and scheissters.

At a time like the present, I would encourage fellow-citizens to reconsider the virtues of the United States Postal Service, which is also subject to surveillance, but of a much less comprehensive type due to physical limitations, and to re-visit the habit of letter writing. Also, printed newspapers, published anonymously, may enjoy a renaissance in the near future, since they would provide a much more secure medium for spreading revolutionary information and sentiment than blogs.

One thing is certain: we have a right to privacy, and cannot possibly continue living under the tyranny of a surveillance state, since its existence is incompatible with a free society.

--Cassandro
--30--

us & them

2011-05-27T08:21:00.000-07:00

I really hate and despise them with an undying passion.

They stole our _______!

At the Battle of _______ in the _______ Century, they used unfair tactics to defeat us. We can't rest until we get revenge, by fighting fairly, of course.

Their religion is absurd and offensive. Did you know they actually believe __________? And they won't be happy until EVERYBODY believes it!

It's not "politically correct" to say so, but science has proven them to be _______. And they smell weird.

They live like animals. Children, education, and the future don't mean anything to them because they live only for __________.

Their music is crude and primitive, and encourages people to _______.

Can you believe they eat _______? Think about that — they actually put _______ in their mouths.

They want to have sexual intercourse with our women.

There are so many of them because all they do is _______! If we're not careful we'll be submerged beneath a flood of ________!

If there's anything worse than a _________, it's a _________-lover. Those who sympathize with them are, knowingly or unknowingly, helping them, and are on THEIR side.

Yes, there are a few good _________s. But better safe than sorry.

Okay, so, we killed ________ of them. but it was in self-defense. Violence is the only language they understand.

We may seem prejudiced, but only because the media is obviously pro-_______.

They're the reason we're so unhappy. If it wasn't for them, we might be have the time and inclination to confront and deal with our own character defects. And I have no idea what you mean by "projection."

This is a re-working of something I found while randomly surfing the net some time ago. I'd credit the source, but I can't recall where I got it.

--30--

body & soul

2011-05-21T17:04:00.000-07:00

Ken Wiley, the host of our excellent weekly jazz history program on KPLU Public Radio ("The Art of Jazz," Sundays from 3 - 6 p.m.), calls this exercise "chasing a song."

"Body and Soul" was an immediate hit from its first appearance over America's radio airwaves in 1930. The melody by Johnny Green, spooky and ominous with its prominent minor chords, and the lyrics by a committee (Edward Heyman, Robert Sour, and Frank Eyton) are an over-the-top lament of a crushed heart, dousing listeners in a bath of bathos. Then as now, America loved a sentimental tear-jerker.

When played well the song is affecting, however, mainly because of its inventive and unusual melody. Its popularity insured that it would be covered by top vocalists and jazz artists, and it was recognized as a standard by 1950. The many versions of this classic give us an opportunity to "chase" it at length, and to compare and contrast the styles and approaches of many famous singers and instrumentalists.

One of the earliest recorded versions (1930), by the gorgeous and talented Ruth Etting, gives us the full vocal treatment of the piece, and includes the only appearance of the song's lyrical introduction I've ever heard.

The month after Etting's record, Okeh released Louis Armstrong's orchestrated rendition, which combines vocal and instrumental virtuosity in one of Satch's greatest sides. Of particular note is Armstrong's beautiful muted trumpet improvisation over the melody, laid down by the sax section, with which the song opens.

Django Reinhardt's version, recorded in France in the mid-30's, is strictly instrumental, and features the legendary guitarist playing what is undoubtedly one of his greatest solos ever, accompanied by his long-time partner, the great Stephan Grappelly. This song is one of the reasons Reinhardt's reputation continues to grow year by year, right down to the present.

One of the most famous recordings of the song was made by tenor saxophonist Coleman Hawkins for the Bluebird label in 1939. Fronting an orchestra as Armstrong did, Hawkins uses the same approach as Reinhardt's, dispensing with the lyrics and improvising freely on the melody, but always with close attention to the song's chord structure. Hawkins's version was a big hit, unusual for a modernistic improvised jazz solo, and has remained immensely popular with jazz musicians over the decades. It was enshrined by its inclusion in the Library of Congress's National Recording Registry in 2004.

There are numerous other well-regarded versions of "Body and Soul" as well, most notably one by Ella Fitzgerald recorded at the Newport Jazz Festival in 1957, but I'll leave it to the reader to track them down and continue chasing this tune, as each is so inclined.

--30--

low crimes

2011-05-19T09:18:00.000-07:00

Since today's post deals with socio-politico matters, you'll find it at Catboxx under the title JAUCA.

These are momentous times we're living in, and the gravity of what goes on in the world today is discernible in both the large and the small acts of the principle players.

--30--

illusions

2011-05-16T14:06:00.000-07:00

My friend Rich is an inspiration. His name is also descriptive, and though not wealthy he leads a rich life, working, tinkering (his most recent project is a restored Model-A), socializing, and mostly spending a lot of time with his wife, children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Depression, idleness, and moping are not in his nature.

His medical history has been a rough road full of potholes. Ten years ago he was diagnosed with prostate cancer and had the diseased organ surgically removed in a standard procedure which, though common, is a terrifying bloodbath. Today he's cancer-free, but after the operation began showing symptoms of both diabetes and Parkinson's Disease, and today lives with both.

A few months ago he read in a magazine about a contraption that "fools the brain" of Parkinson's sufferers, and can cause the tremors associated with the disease to temporarily stop. Being the practical, hands-on kind of guy he is, Rich built one using just the description in the article to guide him.

Piece of cake.

He brought it into our morning yoga class today so we could try it out, a simple three-sided box, open at both ends, with a mirror mounted on one side. "Stick your right hand inside the box" he says to me. "Now lay your left hand on the table and look at it in the mirror."

I did, and my trembling right hand went slack inside the box. The muscles of the right forearm began to relax and in a few seconds were completely at rest. Apparently what happens is the brain "sees" the mirror image of the left hand as the right while the "real" right hand is invisible. Because the eyes and brain perceive the illusory hand at rest rather than shaking, the brain responds by making manifest what it sees as reality. There are some profound philosophical insights in that last clause.

"We are what we think." So opens the Dhammapada, purported to be the actual sayings of Gotama, the Buddha. "All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts we make the world."

An interesting detail of this little experiment is that the box can only short-circuit the brain if it is to one side or the other of the person using it. The mirror trick works because the thumb in the mirror image of the left hand appears to be pointing left when the palm is down, while the thumb on the "real," invisible right hand is pointing left. Also, the fingers appear in reverse order. If the mirror is in front of you, the mirror image doesn't reverse; the left hand is still on the left, with its thumb pointing toward the right.

The human brain is an inconceivably complex and mysterious organ, and the human mind a strange and frightening place. We should never go there alone.

Pencil drawing by M.C. Escher; German, 1930's.

--30--

love and death

2011-05-14T12:33:00.001-07:00

Impotence -- the kind originating in physical rather than psychological causes -- is one of the earliest harbingers of death, and generally precedes the final dissolution of a human male into his constituent elements by about 20 years. Since organisms don't require sexual potency to survive, it's one of the first functions cast aside by a dying body.

The physical consequences of impotence, other than the absence of an ability to participate in an act that's usually enjoyable, are negigible, but the psychological consequences are enormous. Only after he has become impotent does the aging male realize how much of his human identity is tied up in and inseparable from his sexuality.

Lately, I've begun to wonder why humans have evolved sexually precisely in the manner that we have. Most species of mammals are ready to mate for a few days every six months or so, but well-adjusted humans in their prime are ready to boogie 24/7. Also, most mammals don't have prominently visible genitals; females have vulvas which only swell to easy visibility (and access) when they're in season, and the males of most species demurely conceal their penises in sheaths most of the time. But human genitals, especially the male's, are quite prominent, and, when the desires supplied by nature have evaporated, unattractive. The genitals of a naked man look like something the designer added on as an afterthought, are disharmonious with the rest of the body's structure, and seem not to belong.

Or maybe my criticism of the creator is just sour grapes of the "life sucks" variety, who knows?

--30--

fearful places

2011-05-13T13:11:00.000-07:00

A couple days ago I fell into a conversation about the growth of ethnic studies programs in high school and college curricula, and found most of the people participating motivated mainly by fear and anger. They seemed threatened by the existence of these courses, and zeroed in on boogeymen -- mainly Ward Churchill -- associated with them, although I don't know why they feel this way.

The history of race and ethnic relations in the U.S. is, like any other history, based on documents: letters, diaries, wills and other legal records, books written by the people under study, phonograph records, movies, etc. There may be lies in the documents, but the documents themselves never lie (unless they've been altered -- a whole other topic).

A case in point is the 1929 motion picture "On With the Show," billed as the first all-talking musical review in color (although all color prints have been unfortunately lost). The film itself is mediocre, a variety show whose acts are held together by a flimsy and unnecessary plot, but one scene in it might provide a trove of potential topics for an ethnic history class.

I don't think I've posted this link before -- Ethel Waters singing "Am I Blue" in the above-cited film. In addition to her inspired chirping, the specifics of the director's presentation of this dignified African-American songbird are most interesting. However, as always, I'll leave it to the students to draw conclusions, or not as the case may be, and limit myself to retrieving and presenting the documents.

Note: I would have posted this sooner, but Blogger was down for about 24 hours. That's OK, though, since unlike in the old days, time doesn't mean that much to me.

--30--

the old victrola

2011-05-10T17:30:00.000-07:00

I think I need to look for a bigger place so I can have enough room for a victrola. It's not just lack of space that's kept me from getting a hand-crank phonograph, but also the knowledge that as soon as I get one I'll start haunting the record bins at the Salvation Army and antique stores looking for records.

There's a lot of stuff out there that you can only get on old 78's, and there's no other kind. They don't make 'em any more.

The treasures are rare, but are worth the hunt, and pop up in the most surprising places. Listen, for example, to this German-label gem from the twenties, The Peanut Vendor (Der Erdnußverkäufer), played by John Brigs und sein Jazzensemble, and flawless in its straightforward, simple love of beauty. I wonder how many known copies of this baby there are.

--30--

scholars

2011-05-08T09:16:00.000-07:00

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
--Hamlet, Act I, scene 5

Playing himself in his 2007 novel Diary of a Bad Year, J.M. Coetzee wrote: "I have no desire to associate myself with the people behind the Intelligent Design movement. Nevertheless, I continue to find evolution by random mutation and natural selection not just unconvincing but preposterous as an account of how complex organisms come into being. As long as there is not one of us who has the faintest idea of how to go about constructing a housefly from scratch, how can we disparage as intellectually naïve the conclusion that the housefly was put together by an intelligence of a higher order than our own?...

"It does not seem to me philosophically retrograde to attribute intelligence to the universe as a whole, rather than just a subset of mammals on planet Earth. An intelligent universe evolves purposively over time, even if the purpose in question may for ever be beyond the range of our idea of what might constitute a purpose.

"Insofar as one might want to go further and distinguish a universal intelligence from the universe as a whole -- a step I see no reason to take -- one might want to give that intelligence the handy monosyllabic name God. But even if one were to take that step, one would still be very far from positing -- and embracing -- a God who demanded to be believed in, a God who had any interest in our thoughts about it ("him"), or a God who rewarded good deeds and punished evildoers.

"People who claim that behind every feature of every organism lies a history of random selection from mutation should try to answer the following question: Why is it that the intellectual apparatus that has evolved for human beings seem to be incapable of comprehending in any degree of detail its own complexity?...I cannot see what evolutionary advantage this combination gives us -- the combination of insufficiency of intellectual grasp together with the consciousness that the grasp is insufficient."

Noam Chomsky explored a related topic in the introductory paragraphs of his 2003 political study, Hegemony or Survival? Referring to the work of contemporary biologist Ernst Mayr, Chomsky wrote that "Mayr estimated the number of species since the origin of life at about fifty billion, only one of which 'achieved the kind of intelligence needed to establish a civilization.' It did so recently, perhaps 100,000 years ago...

"Mayr speculated that the human form of intellectual organization may not be favored by selection...beetles and bacteria, for example, are vastly more successful than humans in terms of survival.

"We are entering a period of human history that may provide an answer to the question of whether it is better to be smart than stupid. The most hopeful prospect is that the question will not be answered: if it receives a definite answer, that answer can only be that humans were a kind of "biological error," using their allotted 100,000 years to destroy themselves and, in the process, much else."

Happy Mothers' Day!

--30--

tweet counter tweet

2011-05-06T16:14:00.000-07:00

May 5, 2011 -- 8:06PM, JohnQ wrote:

"Some have given former Pres Bush a lot of credit for the demise of UBL/OBL. Some have given him little to no credit.

Is he receiving enough credit or too much credit?"

A day later catboxer replied:

In my opinion, he's getting precisely the right amount.

Another chelloveck quoted a pretty good item from some bircher wrag which read:

Conservative economists, commentators, and politicians are blasting a draft Obama administration plan that envisions using Big Brother-like tracking devices on private cars to tax drivers on how many miles they travel.

The new tax scheme, designed to help fund transportation spending, would determine your mileage by installing electronic equipment on your car. This would involve monitoring your location and how far you’ve traveled.

And the inevitable reply:

What I'd like to know is why they're going through all this song and dance with tracking devices and electronic monitoring and whatnot, when they could achieve the exact same results by just raising the gas tax.

Plus if they did that they wouldn't have the expense of setting up this whole hypercomplex mileage gestapo. It would yield enough revenue to build trains with, and gas would be more expensive so people would drive less.

Well I could drive my kar or hop on a bus,

But if I catch the train I know I'll get there, and I must

Get to Sequim, West Kansas, Sequim, West Kansas here I come

They got some paranoid-critical women there, etc.

OK one more.

May 6, 2011 -- 12:05PM, KindredSai wrote:

I'm all for the US and UK ploughing money into Pakistan in terms of health services and education because it will reduce extremism.

And then the inevitable platitude issues from the catboxx (but it's a true one which makes it OK):

Now you're talkin.

Kind of like the old slogan "Make love, not war" in action. Works better than dropping cluster bombs on em and costs less too.

See that, Bob? We had er right the first time.

Painting by Salvador Dali: The Ghost of Vermeer of Delft.

--30--

beans

2011-05-04T09:47:00.001-07:00

I was wondering in an idle moment, of which I have an abundance, what the total effect of substituting beans for meat would be. I don't mean just for me, but for everybody everywhere, all the time.

Vegetarians frequently cite their desire to be kind to animals by not eating them as the primary motive for their dietary restrictions. But there's a more practical reason to eliminate meat, or, at the very least, pork and beef, from the menu. The Scientific American reports that "according to a 2006 report by the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO), our diets and, specifically, the meat in them cause more greenhouse gases carbon dioxide (CO2), methane, nitrous oxide, and the like to spew into the atmosphere than either transportation or industry." What we're looking at is warming due to deforestation to open up grazing land and the heat produced by fecal contamination, not to mention the price paid in transporting millions of animals and industrially processing them into meat.

The world's billions of cattle also belch and fart constantly and prodigiously, releasing enormous amounts of methane, a much more potent greenhouse gas than carbon dioxide. So the price of that hamburger is higher than you thought.

But wait! There's more! There's also cancer, diabetes, and heart disease. Now how much would you pay? By substituting pinto beans for steak at dinner time, you'll eliminate an unhealthful dose of cholesterol from your diet and simultaneously add a significant helping of fiber. Some researchers, such as Mark Brick of Colorado State University, actually suspect that certain varieties of beans might contain ingredients that actually help prevent cancer and diabetes.

This becomes a political issue when you think about the possible savings in our enormous annual expenditure on medical care, which most experts agree is the single most critical element driving the ballooning national deficit.

Considering all this, here's tonight's menu. For one person, steam 1/2 a cup of brown rice. In another pot, boil 1/2 a cup of washed pinto beans. The rice takes about half an hour, the beans two hours. During the last 20 minutes of cooking, add six to eight ounces of fresh organic spinach to the beans. Then as you're eating it, consider all the implications of such a diet if 95 percent of the people on earth followed it all the time.

And one more thing -- if and when you do eat meat, keep in mind that chicken husbandry produces about 1/13 the environmental impact of an equivalent amount of pork or cattle raising.

--30--

count it off

2011-05-03T14:06:00.001-07:00

In 1623 Galileo declared that "Mathematics is the language of the universe," and he might have added, echoing the words of Pythagoras who preceded him by 2,000 years, that mathematics is also the music of the spheres. For music, with all of its emotions and passion, is based on the same kind of mathematical, clockwork-like relationships that govern the movements of the celestial bodies.

A musical note is a vibration, producing a measurable and predictable number of waves per second, and it's always the same number whether that note is plucked on a string or blown through a horn. If you shorten the string by half or reduce the empty space in the horn's chamber by the same amount, you'll produce the same note exactly one octave higher. Double the string's length and you get the same note an octave lower. The relationships among the notes get more complex from there, for example, if you shorten the string by one-third, you'll produce the fifth note in the eight-note scale determined by the original note. But no matter how complicated they are, the relationships between and among notes, including harmonies, are all by the numbers.

Some music is arhythmical, and marrying rhythms with tones combines two independent sets of mathematical relationships into an interdependent whole. Rhythm, after all, is just the musical counting of time, and the pulse which gives rise to the dance. Rhythms can be as simple as counting to two, or disarmingly complex even though natural-sounding. Have some fun here, seeing if you can discern the time signature of the Afghan National Dance.

Speaking of dance calls up another separate but related universe of mathematical relationships, one which translates numbers into muscular movements and numerically-expressed postures.

To paraphrase Gottfried Leibniz, melody, rhythm, and dance are "pleasures the human mind experiences from counting without being aware that it is counting."

This topic was derived from a random blog topic generator.

Photos: top left -- Wild Bill Davison (left) and Tony Parenti at Jimmy Ryan's Club, New York, 1946. Bottom right -- rembetika singer and dancer Marika Papagika, New York, early 1920's.

--30--

hmm...vapour trails

2011-05-01T13:28:00.000-07:00

As we labour away in our chosen fields of endeavour, the colours of others' intentions are not always clear. However, close inspection reveals the presence of vapour trails, as it were, left as residue of their pasts.

Cat Filosofico
--30--

the monthly pundit

2011-04-30T11:06:00.001-07:00

I had something political to say this morning, so I posted it on the "other" blog, catboxx.blogspot.com.

--30--

bliss

2011-04-28T16:49:00.000-07:00

I've been finding this occurring more and more in yoga classes I'm taking, and it doesn't seem to matter too much who the teacher is, as long as he or she has deep teaching skills. It doesn't happen so much when I do my own asana practice at home.

As movement begins, the mind begins to seek the inside of the body. The mental self sinks down ever deeper into the physical self as the movement deepens and intensifies. Mental contact with the outside world becomes tenuous, and asana becomes a form of meditation. At the conclusion, I'm barely aware of the transition between movement and rest, and only at the end of Savasana, the rest period, do I become aware that I've entered into a state of profound bliss, which immediately begins to dissipate at the resumption of normal activity. However, a residue of that state of mind remains throughout the rest of the day, and it's great.

In my own practice, that state doesn't occur during movement, possibly because I'm functioning as both teacher and participant (and it never happens when I'm teaching a class, which involves thinking). But then I usually fall down a similar rabbit hole during pranayama (controlled breathing) and, especially, during meditation.

I never thought about asana as a form of meditation before, but now find it to be that (among other things) when I have the opportunity to turn off the front part of the brain, follow simple and familiar instructions, and sink like a stone into the depths of my own muscles, sinews, and quietly but ceaselessly moving organic life -- blissed out and loving it.

--30--

the word

2011-04-26T13:14:00.001-07:00

The greatest news story of the week was provided by an antique book expert who stumbled across a bona fide copy of the Nuremberg Chronicle in Sandy, Utah.

The Chronicle's owner inherited it from a great-uncle many years ago and it's been gathering dust in his attic for decades. Ken Sanders realized what he was looking at as soon as the owner pulled it out of its sack. The binding of the 1493 volume is literally falling apart, but the pages are still white, as the paper is made from rags rather than wood pulp. The words applied to the pages by letterpress are as sharp and vivid today as when they were pressed, and nearly every page is full of black-line woodblock illustrations.

The Nuremberg Chronicle was intended to serve the need for a comprehensive history of creation. It was published by Anton Koberger about 60 years after Johannes Gutenberg perfected the letter-press in the city of Mainz, and has an original Latin text by Hartmann Schedel.

However Ken Sanders, now displaying his find at his rare book shop in Salt Lake, knows that what he's got, while astonishing, isn't worth a lot of money. He doesn't really have the book, but only about a third of its pages, and there are several hundred known copies of the work, many in much better condition. But "Just the opportunity to handle something from the very beginning of the printed word and the book itself, especially, ironically, in the 21st century with all this talk of the death of the book, and here we have a book that's survived 500-plus years," Sanders said. "It's just exciting ... The value of an artifact like this to me is the least interesting part of it all."

Before the printed word there was no history for ordinary people, there was only myth and legend, and the study of history was reserved for those who had access to books and other written records After printing started, it became impossible for church or government authorities to suppress and extirpate any idea whose time had come, because they could never find and burn every last copy.

Print is speech frozen in time, and speech is a god-like power. Consider the first verse of the Gospel John, as seen here on a page letterpressed at the Gutenberg Museum in Mainz in 1986. The text following the blue capital reads "In principio etat verbu," -- In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God.

Click twice on the photo of the Gutenberg page to see the image in real size.

--30--

tarot de besançon

2011-04-23T07:39:00.000-07:00

I bought these cards about 10 years ago from a private dealer in the Netherlands, but this is the first time I've used them for a reading, and possibly the first time anybody has.

The Renault Deck was made the old-fashioned way in Besançon, France nearly 200 years ago, printed from wood blocks and then hand colored by the artisan using four large stencils, then cut from the large sheets they were printed on into 78 approximately 4-1/2-inch by 2-1/2-inch cards. Their heavily-thumbed backs and the smell of strong tobacco that still lingers in the deck tell me they were used primarily for playing the game of tarot during most of their long life. All 78 cards remain in reasonably good condition considering their age and hard usage.

The woodblocks the cards were printed from weren't carved by the cardmaker Renault, but by an earlier artist, Jean Jerger, also of Besançon, in about 1800. Renault purchased them a few years later, but made his own stencils. The coloring of the Jerger deck was much more thoroughly and carefully done than that of the Renault cards, which appear somewhat slapdash in execution -- one of the reasons I love their unmistakable folk-art quality.

The Tarot de Besançon is based on but not identical to the Tarot de Marseilles. The cardmakers of this southern French city opted for a regional variation, made to placate the clerical authorities, and replaced the II - Female Pope and V - Pope cards with images of the Roman gods Juno and Jupiter. For card players the change was insignificant, since what matters in gaming is the value of each card rather than the symbolic meaning of its image. For card readers, however, the switch weakens the integrity of the tarot sequence.

So even though I've had this deck for 10 years, I hesitated to read with it. What I finally decided was that if Juno or Jupiter showed up in the spread, it would void the reading, and I went ahead with the result pictured here.

The Reading

Three cards read left-to-right (no Fool card this month). The three cups signifies indecision, hesitation, or confusion in matters of love. The female person in the center is the "Valet de Baatons" (sic), whom I conceptualize as what might be called "the Jill of clubs," is the individual referenced in the the three of cups.

The trump card on the right, designated "Capucin" (with a backward "N") in this deck, and called "the Hermit" in most modern tarots, was originally called either "Time" or "the Old Man" in the oldest decks, and was meant to be associated with the Greek god Cronos (Roman Saturn). His lantern was originally an hourglass, and he means to remind us that the passage of time is relentless and irreversible. Yes, it's true that I'm not getting any younger, but there's still plenty of life left in me, and I'm ready to meet that special someone who will confuse me, and cause me to hesitate and have hard time deciding.

Click on the image for a larger view; click twice for actual size.

--30--

life/death

2011-04-22T07:11:00.000-07:00

The discussion was about gambling, but the larger question arose, "Is this a free country or not?

To which I replied, "Yes, it is, Gail, yes it is."

"We are all perfectly free to eat Cheez Doodles™ and drink beer until we weigh 400 lbs., to sit on a couch and watch American Idolatry until we're lobotomized, to gamble in casinos until we're a million dollars in debt to VISA, to repeat fascist excuses for wholesale larceny and making war on all Muslims and vote Republican, to become addicted to tobacco and smoke it till we cough our lungs out, and to be fat, dumb, and happy.

"Or we're free to choose, as I have, to do none of those things. Some people say this is far-left radicalism and political correctness, but I call it self-preservation.

"And it really comes down to that simple question, would you rather live or die?"

--30--

bible movie!

2011-04-21T06:55:00.000-07:00

The disc player on my computer is busted, so I bought a little portable dvd player to watch movies on. Up first is a 1997 made for tv biopic of the life of king solo-man.

A coupla guys in leather hats are drag racing their two-horse chariots in the desert east of bakersfield, and old solo-man wins when his brother A Donija crashes.

Then there's a line of extras carrying spears marching single file in the foothills up by Garlock, CA, and a line of fellows on horses, with very horrorshow like swelling of martial music with cymbal crashes.

Solo-man, son of king david, talks with a very upper-crust Anglo accent. In fact, the old testimony sounds like shake spear in this movie. King David is totally starry, lying under a pile of blankets.

Too weird. These chellovecks are prancing around on horseback in leather jerkins and conical leather hats talking like lards and borons.

Then, a sudden shift of ambulance, and we focus in on solo-man's mom, bath sheba, and she was very stiff and proud and haughty. This is like the old testimony if Jane Austen had wrote it.

Lines of priest guys in brown hoodies carrying candles in a castle or church, and some of em don't like solo-man. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, some good-looking Latina is playing a little lap harp in Israel as David, who sounds an awful lot like the late John Huston, is getting ready to croak.

Now the children of israel are having a barbecue by those pink sandstone pillars that line the wild rose canyon road entrance to death valley. This is a really lo-budget movie where I recognize lots of the holy land locations, the only set seems to be an abandon bldg, and the director likes having people in lines.

No real skillful segues here. The music changes abruptly, and now we're getting a montage of some sort. Uh oh, trompettes! Must be a war! A Donija vs solo-man again.

Some kind of religious ceremony -- david up on his feet wearing his crownaronie, making a speech and all, and rappin down to solo-man how he's gonna build the grate temple.

king david is taking his time, and waxing philosophical. This is turning out a very slow, boring, and tedious experience cinematique. OK now it looks like the funeral, then solo-man gets topped with the brass hat as his useless and despicable brother plotzes.

this is an on-the-fly so-cal production with a bunch of professional english stage actors sitting on thrones and making speeches, and this particular one is about how A Donija will sleep with the fishes. After comes an interlude that looks like it was shot in a nevada ghost town like rhyolite. I must say, though, the mojave in late spring can be very green and pretty.

Ah, now comes the dirty business with nathan and his (coff coff) egyptian wife. I think the stories of solo-man and david are getting mixed. God, this flick is a yawner. I think i'll turn it off and go fix somethin to eat. Guess I'll miss solo-man's temple, which I understand was on the side of his head.

--30--

the mighty morgan

2011-04-18T14:15:00.000-07:00

The US silver dollar pictured here, designed by George T. Morgan and struck in the millions but intermittently by the US Treasury between 1878 and 1904 and again in 1921, is what people used to call "hard money." It's easy today to forget that when it was minted in 1895, the Morgan's value was universally accepted as one dollar, even though the silver in it -- a little more than 3/4 of an ounce or 90 percent of the coin's weight -- would trade for less than that.

But now, with silver futures trading at over $43 an ounce, the deeply conservative impulse of which hard money preferences are so much a part resonates with renewed vigor. One web pundit educated in such matters wrote that "Clueless central bankers seem incapable of understanding why printing billions of pieces of colorful paper (currency) might affect the price of gold," an observation that underscores the popular conviction that the money the Federal Reserve creates simply by declaring that it exists isn't real money.

It's still real enough that we can exchange it for the goods and services we need and want, but the erosion of the American greenback's value has accelerated dramatically since the end-of-decade economic calamity and the corresponding flood of fiat money meant to stanch that calamity. Today we see that erosion in hard-edged relief, as if backlit, and awaken from our dream of fiat money to see essential commodities such as food and gasoline on the one hand and the US dollar on the other, at opposite ends of a gigantic see-saw.

Some point to the Hunt brothers' cornering of the silver market several decades ago, which caused the price to bubble out to $50 before it precipitously collapsed in 1980, or the sudden spike in gas prices to five bucks in the summer of '08, to argue that today's run-up in commodities prices is the result of speculative manipulations rather than the dollar's erosion. But they're wrong.

Hundred-dollar oil, three-dollar avocados, five-dollar bread, 1500-dollar gold, and forty-dollar silver are here to stay, and it will only get worse from now on, or if you're one of the lucky ones in possession of some hard money, better. And if you're looking to acquire some, you couldn't do better than the Morgan.

Both the Morgan and its successor, the Peace Dollar, are viable currency because of their uniformity and ease of authentication. They are also universally acknowledged to be worth many times their face value -- $33.55 at this precise moment -- such is the effect of fiat money. In addition, they're easily negotiable, unlike gold which is now so valuable that it's impractical as a medium of exchange except for very large purchases.

The Morgan, is far and away the sexiest US coin in semi-circulation today. Many if not most were hoarded in Treasury Department vaults for decades, because the government feared the inevitable easy-money inflation that would have resulted from circulating all of them when they were minted. Sold off in huge lots to eager and rich collectors in the early '60's, many still have the deep mirror-like luster of uncirculated money. If oil is the king of commodities, the Morgan Dollar is the queen of currency.

If this topic interests you, there's an interesting article here on how the JP Morgan banking firm might be attempting to keep silver prices artificially low, and how their ability to do so may be at an end.

El Gato Negro
--30--

the long way home

2011-04-16T08:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday after my longtime friend Ron and I along with his roommate Aaron had been held captive by the hugga-wugga monster for several hours (not an unwelcome imprisonment, but real nonetheless), I realized I had to drive home from Capitol Hill before darkness fell. I can't drive after nightfall any longer because the fading eyesight of advancing age causes me to become too easily confused.

Fortunately we've reached the season when twilight doesn't begin until after eight p.m. It was Friday evening, when the insanity of our car-dependent culture is at its most intense, and the congestion of the week's-end commute is compounded by everyone's wanting to get home as quickly as possible. What I found, though, is that if you just wait it out, even on a Friday night the thundering herd disappears as quickly as it materializes between three and four in the afternoon, and yesterday by 6:45 it was gone completely.

So in very light traffic, moving at a relaxed and moderate 30 miles an hour most of the way, I took the long way home as daylight began to wane. Descending Capitol Hill, I was impressed by the number and size of the trees there in the heart of this lovely city, only a mile or so from downtown, then motored slowly past the University of Washington and through its densely populated student ghetto. Rather than getting on the freeway, dreaded I-5 from there, I turned left at 70th Street and drove along the margin of Green Lake.

The lake is a jewel, the inescapable geographical feature of the urb's northern half, sitting between and adjacent to the two busiest roads in the state. Yesterday evening its water was smooth and still as a sheet of silver reflecting the setting sun, its calmness mirrored in turn by my own mental tranquility. I directed the gently purring engine of my decade-old VW Beetle onto the Green Lake cutoff, pulled into traffic on Highway 99 for one block, then turned left again to ascend Phinney Ridge, aiming toward the gentle declivity on the other side and Greenwood Ave.

And there I was back in my own neighborhood. Piece of cake, even on a Friday evening.

Photo by Ionna Dodu of Bucharest, Romania

D.B.
--30--

hero needed

2011-04-13T09:38:00.001-07:00

When the dragon came among us no one dared to oppose it. "Let it do what it wants," they said, "and it will leave us alone."

But then the dragon ate the sun, and all life on earth began to die. Still, nobody made a move against it. Paralyzed by fear and despair, they counted the days until the end, or would have if there had been any more days and nights. But with the sun gone there was nothing left but perpetual darkness.

Where is the hero who will save us? We need a hero willing to seize the day, attack the dragon in his lair, split him from head to tail, and recover the sun, if it's recoverable. If there's no hero, then a band of brave men can do the job. In either case, we can't simply sit waiting for the same people who have allowed this intolerable situation to develop to help us.

Watercolor by Carl Gustav Jung, leaf 119 of "The Red Book." Click on the image for a larger view.

El Gato
--30--

bright shining star

2011-04-11T13:31:00.000-07:00

So Carl, who manages the medical cooperative where I fill one of my prescriptions, asked how my medication was treating me.

"It's great," I said, "It completely gets rid of the Parkinson's tremor and the anxiety that goes with it. The only thing is it makes me feel heavy, almost like I'm paralyzed sometimes."

When I told him the specific type of remedy I've been using, he said "You might want to steer more toward the Sativa types of medicine," as opposed the Indica varieties, which tend toward more physical effects.

I later found out that this was something I should have known already, because it's an essential diagnostic element in effectively prescribing marijuana for treating specific illnesses. In short and fairly accurately, Sativa strains are mostly cerebral, Indica strains mostly physical, and the shiny "Sativa Star" I got today seems like the perfect treatment to relieve my symptoms without side effects.

The reason I'd never thought about these things before is because the idea of having a choice of what kind of cannabis to get is new for me, and something I'm not used to, but I have to say I like it. Plus, the people at Seattle Medical, once you establish your legitimacy as a patient, are friendly, helpful, and always knowledgeable. Today was a perfect example.

It's great having the laws that allow this. I spent many of my 66 years buying what was available without giving a thought to what variety it might be -- it was that kind of transaction, I'd be in sad shape if I had to do that now. So it's nice to be able to treat my illness with legitimate medicine, without having to feel like a criminal, and it's great having a place like Seattle Medical, who provide a much-needed service to the public in the spirit of the law.

Dave B
--30--

skeletons updated

2011-04-09T14:39:00.000-07:00

Further researches into my great-grandfather's history (see the post directly below this one) have turned up new information as well as a couple of discrepancies in my initial understanding, and these make clear why no serious historian ever relies on a single source.

The discrepancies and omissions are connected to the one important issue of the day, especially for a young southern male of that faraway time: establishing one's manhood and full citizenship in the crucible of the Civil War.

My great-grandfather, 23-year-old Timothy Brice and his brother, my great-uncle David, one year older, volunteered for service together in the 50th Georgia Volunteer Infantry Regiment, Company "K" (Brooks County) on March 4, 1862. But when the regiment marched out of Savannah four and a half months later, traveling north where it would be attached to Robert E. Lee's Army of Northern Virginia , only David marched with them. He went on to participate in some of the bitterest fighting of the war, eventually meeting his death on the second day of the Battle of the Wilderness, May 6, 1864, not at Gettysburg a year earlier as I previously wrote.

Timothy was left behind. He was discharged from the army on July 17, 1862, the same day the regiment marched from Savannah, and presumably returned home to Brooks County, where he later married, fathered 10 children, and lived out his days. Why he was discharged and under what circumstances I have not a clue.

It would take a very serious flaw in one's constitution or character to be unconditionally discharged from an armed force as desperate for manpower as the Confederacy's was. Perhaps my great-grandfather was gravely ill, or maybe he was painfully unfit for soldiering and warfare. In any case, Timothy Brice had a very short interlude in service and did no fighting for the C.S.A.

This story will be updated and completed some time in the future. Four of the five questions every historian and every reporter always asks (What, where, when, how, and why) are answered, but the final and most important one remains elusive. For now.

What little information that survives about my patrilineal ancestors demonstrates that for the American generation coming into maturity in the 1860's, exactly as it was for my father's generation 80 years later, the great and earth-shaking wars of modern times are the central and defining events which order their lives.

DB
--30--

skeletons

2011-04-07T10:10:00.000-07:00

My grandfather, Sam Brice -- that's him sitting in the foreground with his feet tucked under -- was born in 1889, and looks to have been slightly less than 10 years old when this family picture was taken, dating it to shortly before 1900.

His father, Timothy Brice, is seated at center beside his dour-looking wife Mary, surrounded by their ten children and, on the other side of the white picket fence holding the clan's first and at this date only grandchild, the inevitable "Aunt" Ellen. This was, after all, Brooks County in Southern Georgia.

I've never known any but the barest facts about my great-grandfather, that he was born in 1838 and looked a lot like me. He probably fought for the Confederacy in the Civil War like his brother David, who was one year older and was killed at Gettysburg in 1863, but I have no hard evidence of that. A bigger question has to do with inheritance. Why did Timothy's father, Francis Brice, choose to pass over his three older surviving sons at his death in 1878 and bestow the inheritance on his youngest boy, Mitchell?

Timothy's family looks moderately prosperous, but Mitchell, after inheriting his father's plantation in 1878, became a local baron of the type for which the south is famous. He added to the lands he inherited, and in time also augmented his empire with a large sawmill and general store. Slavery was gone by the time Tallokas Plantations fell to him, but black labor was governed by peculiarly southern laws and rules which historian Douglas Blackmon calls "Slavery by Another Name."

He became rich, acquired extensive holdings in local banks, and became a director of at least one of them. He was Chairman of the Board of Brooks County Commissioners and developed an English gentleman's habits, acquring a taste for fine horses which he raised on his property and raced successfully in Atlanta, New Orleans, St. Louis, and New York as well is in local venues.

How did this extended family come to be what they were, and where did the opportunity for them to develop lands and businesses originate? The answers lie in some of American history's greatest high crimes and misdemeanors.

Timothy Brice's grandfather, my great-great-great grandfather Joseph Brice and wife Martha emigrated from England shortly before the turn of the 19th century, settled initially in Pennsylvania, then moved to southern North Carolina, where Francis was born in 1804. In 1833 Francis and his wife made the overland trek to southern Georgia in a covered wagon, and there he acquired the land that would become the family seat and source of great fortune.

From whom he acquired it, or under what terms I have no idea. But I do know that this happened two years after President Andrew Jackson began enforcing the Indian Removal Act, forcing the former Cherokee owners of that area to move west, to present-day Oklahoma. In doing so, he ignored a Supreme Court decision declaring the act illegal.

Lots of Americans have skeletons in their closets, and many of these, perhaps most of them, are non-caucasian. It's difficult to notice this after a while, however, because when the skin comes off and the flesh falls away, we all tend to look the same.

Eram quod es; Eris quod sum.

See also geneologytrails.com, and scroll down to "Brice."

Click on the image for a larger view.

DB
--30--

Restoration

2011-04-05T13:01:00.000-07:00

A friend took me to see The Adventures of Prince Ahmed last night, and I have to admit I'd barely heard of it before. Big oversight.

This is not just an unusual and innovative filmwork from mid-1920's Germany, but also the earliest surviving animated feature (two earlier ones from Argentina by Quirino Cristiani are lost). Using scissors, paper, cardboard, and sometimes very thin lead sheets, artist and filmmaker Lotte Reininger, along with her husband, two assistants, and half a dozen avant-garde artists and animators, spent three years (1923-26) cutting the film's human and inhuman characters and backgrounds, while cinematographer Carl Koch painstakingly photographed them frame by frame, in the manner of modern claymation.

The results of Reininger's scissorwork and artistic conception alone demonstrate amazing skill and patience. Look, for example, at the elaborated featherwork on the prince's costume, and the lace trailing from Princess Pari Banu's headdress.

Adapted loosely from several stories in The 1,001 Nights of Scheherazade, the plot includes elements of Prince Ahmed's story as well as the famous Aladdin story, has the inevitable evil sorcerer, a sympathetic witch, and a flying horse. It's pure fairytale and all archetypes.

No original nitrate copy of Ahmed has survived. For a while only black-and-white prints were available (the original was hand-tinted). Using one of those black-and-white prints and a highly-technical, complex process, British and German archivists restored the movie in its original colors in 1998/99.

One more thing made this event memorable: the movie's soundtrack, and yes, silent movies need to have them, or lose a lot of atmosphere and mood. Last night's soundtrack was by David Keenan and Nova Karina Devonie, Seattle composers and performers, playing the score for Ahmed they were commissioned to write in 2008, on accordian, guitar, banjo, glockenspiel, viola, percussion, and slide whistle. They've performed this work extensively since '08, all over the world, from Australia to Waterloo (Iowa), and complement the film immeasurably.

--30--

SS and 71st*

2011-04-03T14:48:00.000-07:00

Today I will write about the 9th SS Panzer Division Hohenstaufen, a topic suggested to me by a random blog topic generator. As it turns out, my young father crossed paths with these 9th SS Panzers Hohenstaufen when that command surrendered near Steyr, Austria in May of '45. Dad was with the 71st Infantry, the "farthest east" US division, which reached Steyr at the same time as units of the Russian Red Army advancing from the east.

The 9th SS Panzers was moved around a lot during the short history of its active role in combat. They first saw action in Poland in the spring of '44, but were quickly moved to Normandy and from there took part in the general retreat inland which occupied most of the next year.

The pictures from my dad's wartime divisional chronicle don't show the Panzers, but they do show American and Russian troops meeting up and eating together, along with the obligatory group portrait of the high generals on the scene, Inset at the bottom of the page is a destroyed German #88 anti-aircraft gun near Steyr.

History from the troop's eye level -- that certainly gives a different kind of view. At the troop's eye level you see the individual nuts and bolts on the machines that drive modern war along, Nowadays, killing mechanisms are more dependent on electronics and less mechanical than in the past, still nothing has changed much since gunpowder came along.

Klick on pic to make it big, then klick again for actual size.

*Clinger, Johnson, Mazel, and Nichols, The History of the 71st Infantry Division (1946, Augsburg, Bavaria: 71st Infantry Division (self-Published).

Manuel Delorez
--30--
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

peace & freedom

2011-04-01T16:25:00.001-07:00

Graffitied wall decoration, the John Lennon wall in Prague.

Peace and freedom. In the days to come we'll need to remember that peace and freedom is what we want.

People all the world over are longing for peace and freedom, craving it, starving for it, At the same time there are powerful evil forces loose in the world, institutions that have fortunes staked on rupturing the peace and suppressing freedom.

I don't know what the solution is, but I do know that the answer to violence is not to oppose it with more violence, just as an adequate response to hatred can't be hateful.

From Wisconsin to Waziristan, we all want the same thing. It's really simple, but getting it is not, as that will involve a lot of imagination and creativity. John Lennon knew this.

Photo by DiAnne Grieser, March, 2009.

DB
--30--

waiting for bad weather

2011-03-31T12:00:00.000-07:00

I've been waiting for nearly 40 years for Seattle to become Hollywood's favorite shooting location, due to the city's low-key photogenic qualities combined with its constant overcast, which lends a brooding quality to anything shot outdoors here. In 1974 the city starred with John Wayne in "McQ," a boilerplate crime drama about an aging Seattle detective who drives around in a Pontiac Trans-Am "Green Hornet" model looking for gratuitous car chases to get involved in. It was his role as McQ that prompted film critic Pauline Kael to observe that Wayne looked like one of those stone heads from Easter Island when filmed sitting behind the wheel of his trendy ride.

But "McQ" didn't set off a large-scale migration of directors and cinematographers to Seattle. "Frazier" helped in the '80's, but the TV show was shot almost entirely indoors, and at most viewers caught a glimpse of the Space Needle through a window once in a while.

In the '90's it was another televised offering with an entirely different kind of director that brought attention to the area in David Lynch's strange and at times surreal murder-mystery "Twin Peaks." It was shot about 50 miles from here, mostly in the town of North Bend and its nearby scenic location, Snoqualmie Falls. The show's opening credits ran against a backdrop of fog-enshrouded Mt. Si -- a sight that can't help leave an impression on anyone who's ever seen it close up -- and the stunning beauty of the Cascade Range was as much a part of the series as its convoluted plot.

And now comes "The Killing," a 13-part series debuting April 3 on AMC, which unabashedly and openly appropriates "Twin Peaks" gloomy Northwestern cloud cover to underscore the melancholy events of the narrative. Actually, the makers of "The Killing" cite a Danish TV series as their inspiration, the Danish work having derived from "Twin Peaks."

As we enter the era of political and economic doom and gloom, one bright spot for those of us here is that our home town might at last achieve the cachet it deserves.

Gato Triste
--30--

materialism

2011-03-29T14:18:00.000-07:00

Moloch was an ancient semitic god worshipped by Canaanites, early Hebrews, and especially the Phoenicians. Archaeological and documentary evidence of him is spotty, but from what we know he seems to have been a god who demanded sacrifices of live victims, including children.

In our own time the name of Moloch often refers to something which requires costly sacrifices, and in Allen Ginsberg's classic poem of the mid-1950's, "Howl," Moloch has become the worship of material, which in the poet's view has led us to the ultimate sacrifice -- loss of self. After opening the poem with a long description of how he "saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness," Ginsberg begins the second part with the question "what sphinx of cement and aluminium bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?"

Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!

Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!

Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!

Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!

Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose factories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose smoke-stacks and antennae crown the cities!

Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!

Even though most inhabitants of our modern industrialized world might express an attachment to one or another of the traditional religions, most of them actually worship material. In doing so they worship not just a false god, but a cruel one. Materialism urges us to spend our lives working ceaselessly toward a vaguely-defined goal which, even when achieved, will leave us feeling empty, for it's at that point we will realize that we have sacrificed our souls, as Faust did, exchanging them for a heap of lifeless objects.

D.B.
--30--

a jealous god

2011-03-27T07:18:00.000-07:00

The history of modern belly dance is incomplete and spotty, but even without tangible evidence we know that the sensuous and sexually provocative movements of this gorgeous dance form go back a long, long way. The dance is, in fact, older than history itself.

How do we know this? Because the movements of belly dance, the hip locks, shimmies, belly rolls, chest pushes, and sinuous arm movements, and the male responses to them express instincts embedded in every human psyche. They're hard to perfect, but at the same time as natural as breathing.

In ancient times, when gods and goddesses ruled the earth from their temples and sacred groves, before the one male god arose to drive out the old deities and impose his jealous paternalism, ritual marriage and its sexual fulfillment were integral components of goddess worship. Priestesses taking the part of Inanna in Sumer, Sekhmet in Egypt, and Ishtar in Babylon married and bedded their annual consorts, and it might be reasonable to assume the dance was an essential prelude to the event. The ancient temples of the goddess of fertility, love, and war might also have been centers of the sacred dance, where both ensemble and solo performances of the art occurred, and where candidates for priestesshood were trained and rehearsed.

Then came the Hebrews with their one emphatically paternalistic God who could brook no competition, and they quickly realized that his most daunting challenge came from beautiful Ishtar and her irresistible dance. Some of the Hebrew people "would not hearken to their Iudges, but they went a-whoring after other gods, and bowed themselves down vnto them: they turned quickly out of the way, which their fathers walked in, obeying the commandments of the Lord; but they did not so" (Judges 2:17). The beauty of the goddess had a hold on men which was not easily suppressed, and it took many generations and the advent of the Arab version of the one paternal God, Allah, to finally eliminate Ishtar in her many manifestations from the lands where she once ruled supreme.

But she could never be eliminated entirely because love of beauty and sexual desire are natural expressions of the most fundamental human traits, as well as expressions of the fact that we are bound to our animal bodies. And so she has returned in our own time, through the medium of the ancient dance.

I went to a celebration of Ishtar (modern form = Esther = "the star") this past Friday and watched the good, the indifferent, the unusual, and the spectacular versions of the ancient form enacted by living women (and one man!), including she who will not be named here, but is the living embodiment of Ishtar, the queen of heaven and the tribal dance.

D.B.
--30--

sprung

2011-03-23T12:22:00.001-07:00

Springtime in Seattle arrived uncharacteristically right on schedule this year, signaled by the vernal equinox which occurred overnight on March 20-21. Primavera's advent is usually on a two-month delay in this part of the world, but today it's fully here, with bright sunshine, gentle zephyrs, and pastel blossoms everywhere.

Robins chirp; frogs burp.

And it's intoxicating. The masses are out walking, biking, and driving, burning their $4 gas and enjoying the scenery, which includes Mt. Rainier looking like a colossal scoop of ice cream the deity (if you believe in that sort of thing) dropped from his cone.

Will it last? My magic eight ball says "Don't count on it," and Yahoo! Weather says the gloom and drip will re-commence tomorrow and last the rest of the month. So enjoy it while you can.

Maybe in April...

Gato Intoxicado
--30--

numa numa

2011-03-21T05:49:00.000-07:00

Yesterday the young guy who is my upstairs neighbor asked me as we rode the elevator whether the yellow VW bug with the "All your base are belong to us" license frame was mine.

"Yeah," says I, "that's me."

"That was back in the infancy of the net," he said. "Very cool."

"All your base and the Numa Numa Dance were the greatest things ever on the web," says I. "You're familiar with the Numa Numa Dance?"

"Unfortunately," he says.

OK, not everybody is a fan of Gary Brolsma, the shy, overweight New Jersey teen-ager who made the "Numa Numa" video in his parents' basement in December of 2004. But I'm with the critic who said "It's really a thing of beauty to see someone so committed to a lip-sync." Besides that, Brolsma has an instinct for choreographic composition, and his scrupulous attention to the fine details of performance helped the video to go viral upon release.

Numa Numa's success, however, was mainly propelled by the song Brolsma chose to lip-sync, a Romanian-language hit "Dragostea Din Tei" (in English, "Love from the Linden Trees"), recorded in the spring of 2004 by O-Zone, a pop group from Moldova. Why would anyone travel to Romania to seek fame and fortune? That's another story.

The fact is, this obscure-seeming tune was world famous when Brolsma discovered it. It was number 72 on the U.S. pop 100, and number one all over Europe and in Japan for many weeks in the summer of '04. What I'm saying is that millions of people all over the world really loved this song, and for good reason. It's pure dance music, like the Macarena, with a beat that makes your toes itch, and leadsinger Dan Balan hammers the nonsensical lyrics confidently, and with charisma,

So enjoy the video, even if my sometime fellow elevator passenger doesn't.

O-Zone broke up a month after the video came out. Gary Brolsma has followed up his debut effort with other video projects, but without the same spectacular success. Dan Balan continues working a lot in Russia and elsewhere in Eastern Europe, but none of his recent stuff hits my G-spot. In retrospect it seems the Numa Numa moment was one of those magical occurrences which happen only once, never again to be duplicated.

DB
--30--

specie

2011-03-19T15:50:00.000-07:00

In God we trusted; under Bush Two we busted.

With that in mind, I went shopping for silver today, and at a small shop in a strip mall bought a few old coins --

1921 silver dollars. There were two kinds minted that year: the Morgan, named for its designer, and the Peace Dollar (pictured), to commemorate the armistice that ended the Great War. I find the Peace Dollar more aesthetically pleasing, but since both are 90 percent silver they have identical value.

These things are intoxicating, and I can see why hoarders in earlier epochs became misers and loved running their fingers through piles of precious metals. Unlike paper money, checks, or an unromantic debit card, they're hard and shiny, kind of like Madonna's face, which they also resemble because they've seen better days but are still very appealing. They're also like magical talismans -- archaeological artifacts from a gone world and long-departed nation.

I don't know if there's going to be a currency meltdown of some kind, or a hyperinflation which would have the same effect. Those things are possible but not certain, and I don't know what the probabilities are. However, I would like to be prepared for such a long- or short-term emergency.

At the time these things were minted their one-dollar face value was way greater than the value of the three-quarters ounce of silver they contained. That's certainly not true any longer with silver trading at $35/oz. I'm not confident enough to say this is a word to the wise, but it's a suggestion.

E Pluribus Unum; don't neglect the states; you'll rune 'em.

--Troilius Crassassius
--30--

open de boxx

2011-03-17T08:14:00.000-07:00

For today's post, open the catboxx.

Gato Renunció
--30--

15 minutes

2011-03-15T15:40:00.000-07:00

Rebecca Black's "Friday," released by Ark Music Factory this past weekend on YouTube, has already gotten six-and-a-half million hits, and nobody knows why.

I mean nobody knows why any of this. Why this song? Why this singer? Why is everybody watching this? What's going on?

It's Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday;
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend.
Partyin', partyin' (yeah!), partyin', partyin' (yeah!)
Lookin' forward to the weekend.

I presume Ms. Black herself penned (or keyboarded) these somewhat less than memorable lyrics, which she sings in an on-key and tonally adequate but affectless voice that resonates in a kind of nasally honk, accompanied by an autotune drone. Also, Rebecca is a very cute 13-year-old, but YouTube is loaded with pretty young girls singing dopey original songs.

So if it's not the song and not the singer which account for the millions of views, then what is it? Some have suggested that the inherent badness of this work is enough to attract attention, but it's really not all that bad. It sounds exactly like the music they play at the McDonald's in Port Orchard, which I call "machine pop." It's like music written and performed by a computer program, and sounds basically inhuman.

My theory is that even though this is a truly terrible song performed by an indifferent singer, it's well made, and the combination works. A terrible song by an unmemorable singer, if shot on a cell phone, is simply boring to try to watch, but "Friday" is kind of fun, And it has 6,932,810 views -- up by half a million or so since I started writing this -- plus new parodies of it are appearing every hour. Judge for yourself, and keep in mind that tomorrow is Saturday, and Sunday comes "afterwards."

Note: The topic "15 Minutes of fame" was suggested by a random blog topic generator.

UPDATE: 26 Million views in one week. Fun fun fun fun.

--Chai Kowski
--30--

a fool's advice

2011-03-13T18:33:00.000-07:00

This is the third month in the last five that the fool has shown up in my short monthly spread. It's actually three times in the last four, since the deck I used in January (Mexican loteria cards) doesn't have a fool card.

In December he was right in the middle of the spread, as he is this month, and back then I wrote a few words analyzing the image along with some comments on the history of the deck, over at Catboxx. In November he appeared on the far right (the place of honor!) of a four-card spread in a reading done by someone other than me. He may be a fool, but he's persistent.

Skeptics will say this is a coincidence, or possibly the result of careless shuffling. But I shuffle the cards thoroughly before each use, and in addition choose one pile of cards at random out of a triple-cut deck from which to select the three of 74 or 78 cards (depending on which pack I'm using). And I don't think it's a coincidence. I believe there's a message here, in the image.

But what is it? The homeless and essentially rudderless fool might be telling me I'm spiritually adrift, and looking for safe harbor. Or maybe it's something else I'm not quite ready to understand, and understanding is in the womb of time.

D.B.
--30--

drawing hope

2011-03-11T14:31:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the New Yorker's famous covers say all that needs to be said. This week's by one of the magazine's regular stable of artists, Barry Blitt, is entitled "Hope is the Thing with Feathers."

That's also the famous first line of Emily Dickinson's poem "Hope," a metaphorical riff on the standard image of the Holy Ghost (or spirit) as a white dove. Dickinson, a gentle, eccentric, and reclusive spirit who died in 1886, no doubt would have been shocked and dismayed by just how much our contemporary, dictator-ridden world hungers for hope.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Click on the image for a larger view

Mike L. Angelo
--30--

smile please

2011-03-09T17:28:00.001-08:00

Last evening on NPR's "Fresh Air," Terry Gross ran an old interview she'd done with Sam Chwat, speech therapist and researcher and "dialect coach to the stars." It was he that taught Robert DeNiro to sound like somebody from Appalachia for a role, rather than someone from New York City. Chwat died recently at 57, from lymphoma.

One of the things he discovered during his researches, though he was certainly not the first, is that facial expression helps convey vocal tone, which means we can hear people smiling on the radio. To document and assess the impact, Chwat created a strange justaposition:

One funny exercise that we have is we have people grin while reading into a tape recorder a bloody, bloody story, a really grotesquely bloody story from a tabloid newspaper and then play it back. It's not even their language. And all they were doing was grinning while they were reading the story and they will sound like the most psychotic thing going as a result on the playback.

I haven't heard any of these recordings, so I'll try making one of my own here at home. Sam Chwat's extremely innovative research technique has enormous possibilities.

Lost Writer "Q"
--30--

denial

2011-03-07T06:13:00.000-08:00

I didn't want to admit it, but now I have to. And along with the admission comes yet another significant drug-related change in behavior. Where does all this change stuff end?

I've been drinking too much coffee. For years. The habit, which we fall into thinking it will make us more energetic and alert, ruined my sleep and ended up having the opposite effect.

I discovered this about a week ago when for some reason I didn't feel like having my usual two or three late-afternoon cups of hot, black Java. I had peppermint tea instead, then slept like a baby that night, without the usual two, three, or four hours of restless tossing that has been ruining my nights. For years.

Since then I've been repeating the performance every day and every night, so I guess it's now a rule -- no coffee after noon.

I'd read for years that drinking coffee in the afternoon will keep a person awake at night, but persisted in thinking myself an exception to the rule. Life is rough on the banks of denial.

Gato Tranquilo
--30--

enkralled

2011-03-05T21:34:00.000-08:00

Holy #@$!!

Diana Krall is totally awesome in about every way imaginable. If I tried to watch any more of her 2nite I would absolutely plotz.

Check out this museum piece.

Sorry. I just had to get that off my chest.

Sidney Plotznik
--30--

walkin blues

2011-03-03T11:07:00.000-08:00

The "new normal" price of oil is a hundred bucks a barrel, so what's a poor person to do? Whatcha gonna do when "the pump don't work cause some vandals took the handle."*

Nothin to do but walk.

I'm using neighborhood resources as much as possible. I've been out already this morning to see my tax accountant (right across the street) and make an appointment with the dentist (two doors down). Later on I'll walk the half mile to the produce market. Looks like a no-car day here in the urban hellhole I love.

Or it would be if I didn't have to go to Edmonds later this afternoon, eight-and-a-half miles over hill and down dale and out to the Salish Seashore. I guess I'll gas up while I'm out there.

*Bob Dylan, "Subterranean Homesick Blues"

Gato Boxeador
--30--

yoga power

2011-03-01T12:12:00.001-08:00

Meditation is not exclusive to yoga, and many people other than yogis meditate. As part of a complete yoga routine, however, meditation is the natural and logical culmination of the sequence, following asana (movement) and the concentrated, disciplined breathing called pranayama. It's the "mind" part of a practice meant to improve and maintain optimal functioning of the body, breath, and mind.

I've heard and read many meditators of all stripes testify that they have been "transformed" by the practice. It's not for me to throw doubt on anyone else's testimony, but in my own experience, "transformation" is too strong a word. Instead, I find that meditation has softened my personality, smoothing out the rough edges and rounding the sharp corners. All the basic building blocks of the personality remain in place, but under the influence of meditation have become less angular, rounded and loosely fitted together where they were once straight and unyielding.

This is my analogy for the power of meditation; it's like the power of water in a clear stream moving over stones, gently and slowly but relentlessly wearing away their sharp surfaces and rigid angles, making them smoother and rounder, and at the same time brighter, as they harmoniously settle down into the creek bed alongside their similarly altered fellow stones.

Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

anchortown

2011-02-27T11:17:00.000-08:00

I recently revived friendships with a couple of people I used to work with back in my professional musician days, long ago and far away in the fabled town of Anchorage, Alaska. It's been 30 years since Carrie and Jerry and I traveled into that unknown, frozen land to do a six-week gig as the house band at a little gin mill on a downtown corner, the Keyboard Lounge. I ended up staying for seven years, and Jerry stayed longer than that. Carrie, always the most volatile of the group, stayed about a year, left, came back, got married in Anchorage, and then left for good, ending up in Florida. I landed in California via Boston, then eventually returned to the home of my adolescence, Seattle. Jerry's been a music producer and nightclub owner in Texas for the last 20 years.

It was surprisingly easy for the three of us to resume the conversation where we left off so long ago, and that left me wondering whether people ever change at the most fundamental levels. I would probably seem like an entirely different person today than Dave the Drummer who appeared nightly at the Keyboard, drank too much, smoked too much, and talked too much using too much loud profanity, expressive of deep-seated resentments. My life has been transformed in many ways since then, and the transformation continues, but talking to Carrie and Jerry I realized that deep down, we're all the same people we always were. A person might refine himself and the way he lives, but the foundations of the personality are lodged deeply and immovably, having been set in place during the earliest phases of our forming personalities.

I think you can teach an old dog new tricks, and even new habits, but you can't change him into a different dog.

Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

the revolutionary

2011-02-24T13:55:00.000-08:00

Jose Guadalupe Posada, the Mexican political cartoonist and engraver, is most famous for his amusing and often satirical calaveras (skulls) and skeletons, so I was surprised when I ran across this emphatically pre-mortem Posada portrait of the famous revolutionary from Morelos State, Emiliano Zapata.

It's a lovely, poster-ready engraving which captures the great warrior's idealism and ferocity, while its images of bullet holes foreshadow Zapata's violent death by multiple gunshot wounds. Posada lived and died during the Mexican Revolution, so this must have been one of his later works. He had enjoyed some notoriety during his career, but died unknown and impoverished in 1913. Zapata survived another six years, eventually keeping his date with assassins' bullets at a carefully-laid ambush in 1919.

Click on the image for a larger view.

Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

snowfall

2011-02-22T13:05:00.000-08:00

Snow is falling thickly and silently all around town right now. It's too warm for any to accumulate this afternoon, but as it continues falling overnight and the temperature drops, Mother Earth and Father Sky will be preparing a new world for us to live in come morning.

This reminds me of another February, 39 years ago, when my wife and I came limping back to Seattle after a very rough patch of time in California. She was pregnant with our daughter, I was out of work, and we were all but homeless. We were fortunate to have some kind of roof over us when the snow fell after a few weeks' warm stretch, blanketing the red camellias blooming outside our window, then sticking around a couple weeks.

Everything gets quiet and very peaceful when it snows. Traffic gets reduced by about 90 percent and the accumulated drifts muffle what little sound there is. The timing of this event is good from my vantage point, and I'm glad to see it this time.

Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

post mortem

2011-02-20T15:13:00.001-08:00

The politics of predation is just a single facet of our cultural decline. It goes along with TV shows and movie "entertainment" that consists mainly of violence and sadism.

When the rich and priveleged attack and loot pensioners, workers, and the poor it's one more indication that you're living in a culture that has lost its moral compass, and is on the skids.

Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

between two blogs

2011-02-18T13:51:00.000-08:00

The sun is shining in Seattle; the mountains are out and it's a gorgeous day, with the cold, clear weather a prelude to snow, I'm told. For once, that's fine with me; I don't have to drive anywhere this weekend, and could easily walk the 18 blocks to a yoga class at Bitter Lake tomorrow morning, if need be.

Bitter Lake, pictured here with my old bicycle, the original Schwinn, is one of Seattle's many little hidden idyllic spots; on a nice day a it's a tiny, tucked-away pocket of paradise.

Now, I've been avoiding any political writing lately, and anyway over time I've made an effort to relegate all things political to that "other" blog. However, I do want to mention in passing that I'm enjoying reading Bostonian Gene Sharp's "From Dictatorship to Democracy," a 93-page pamphlet subtitled "A Conceptual Framework for Liberation," and a how-to manual for revolutionaries.

Sharp, now 83, is a hands-on instructor. He didn't travel to Egypt during during the recent brouhaha there (his health is now frail), but has been to every other world hot spot over the years as they occurred, and his little book was widely consulted by the activists in Tahrir Square.

It's rather dry (it's an instruction manual, after all), but edifying. A paraphrased content sample would be "Non-violent confrontation works; violence doesn't, because it will rebound on you." The little book is available for free PDF download, or, if you want the Html version simply Google "Gene Sharp From Dictatorship to Democracy" and choose Html.

Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

the 866 code

2011-02-16T13:27:00.000-08:00

I've been getting calls on my cell phone from area code 866, but I don't answer them.

I caution people to never answer area code 866 calls.

Those who answer those calls fall under the 866 curse, and great harm shall come to them.

Oh, no! It's the robot caller from the Agua Caliente Casino again!!

It's not area code 666 you need to worry about, nor Area 51!

--Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

trinity

2011-02-14T14:54:00.001-08:00

Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

winter passing

2011-02-12T14:46:00.000-08:00

It's a rainy, blustery winter day here in Seattle, a nice day to stay indoors with the heat turned on and a cup of hot coffee, watching the drops splashing against the windows.

This is the time of year when people of the Salish Sea used to repair to their long lodges for the round dances.

It's blustery outside but quiet in my heart today. The clock ticks contentedly, telling me the world is at peace, despite the fact that many humans as well as other creatures continue suffering dreadfully, and I feel for them.

Painting by Poulsbo artist Robin Weiss.

Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

flying high

2011-02-10T19:36:00.000-08:00

Okay, I've watched this a couple of times, and I know it's not humanly possible for anybody to do what this guy does with those two little drums. But he does it anyway; you just have to watch his hands to believe it.

For Zakir Hussain, younger in the video than he is now, this music is a spiritual discipline reflected in his face, as well as the result of thousands of hours of rigorous practice. Zakir is the son of the late Allah Rakha, also a master of the tablas. I was privileged to hear Allah Rakha in person when he accompanied Ravi Shankar on his US/West Coast tour in 1967, and it was a life-changing musical experience.

So now if you've got five minutes, check out this YouTube of Zakir Hussain playing a solo in Tintala, a 16-beat cycle, and the most commonly encountered in Indian classical music, and enjoy.

Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

evil things

2011-02-08T14:29:00.000-08:00

This odd-shaped and sinister-looking 900-foot-long asteroid which some scientists say will probably hit the earth (by 2036) while others say don't worry about it ain't gonna happen, is named 99942 Apophis. It looks like a malicious ghost.

Apophis is the Greek form of the name for the evil old Egyptian god Apep, represented in ancient art as a huge snake. It isn't by chance that the serpent's image is also the pictogram for evil throughout C.G. Jung's Red Book. The identification of snakes with evil and with frightening intentions is universal.

In this picture the god Autun wards off the evil Apep. This whole business with this spooky looking little evil astorrhoid is creeping me out.

Click on the images to get a larger view.

Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

the mummy's curse

2011-02-07T16:22:00.000-08:00

A tenacious and high-volume correspondent asks, "What are the implications for the US if the Muslim Brotherhood (in Egypt) succeeds?"

Well I can tell you what the implications for the US are if the Muslim Brotherhood doesn't succeed.

Our fate will be to fall under the curse of the mummy!!

Abdul al-Hazred, distinguished professor of comparative numismatics at Miskatonic University in Arkham, Mass., has written in a scholarly work that "Those who fall under the curse of the mummy, great harm shall come to them!"

Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

physico-mental activity

2011-02-06T16:39:00.000-08:00

One of the most frequently e-mailed New York Times articles in recent memory was a piece by Sindyan Bhanoo which ran on January 28 suggesting the possibility that meditation causes physical changes in the brain.

M.R.I. brain scans taken before and after the participants’ meditation regimen found increased gray matter in the hippocampus, an area important for learning and memory. The images also showed a reduction of gray matter in the amygdala, a region connected to anxiety and stress. A control group that did not practice meditation showed no such changes.

Curious? Read it here.

I've been meditating for about a year now, about 12-15 minutes a day (nothing like the two hours a day the subject who is the article's main focus has been doing), and I've certainly noticed changes in attitude and outlook. But it never occurred to me that there might be corresponding physical changes as well. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised, since yoga asana (movement) practice has mental as well as physical effects.

Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

february read

2011-02-04T08:00:00.000-08:00

The cards for February indicate positive developments on the horizon, in keeping with my horoscope which says great things will be happening for me, especially the first five months of the year.

The two of spades predicts the start of some kind of partnership having to do with work or health (or both, since my work is health-related), but not romance; that would be the deuce of hearts. I have no idea who this new partner, friend, or associate might be.

Eight clubs is an indicator of highly-focused mental concentration, of pursuing one's goals with an intense single-mindedness of purpose. That pretty much sums up my state of mind right now.

The trump card, Justice, indicates balance and amplifies the eight. If you're sure of yourself and your goals are creative and aimed at helping people, having a mission is not fanatical, but merely a sign of determination.

This is the first month of the last quarter-year that I didn't draw the Fool card to the spread, which tells me I now have someplace to go.

Click on the image for a larger view.

Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

renewal

2011-02-02T12:51:00.000-08:00

Its appropriation in this country by a groundhog from Pennsylvania has obscured the ancient origins and great significance of the February 2nd holiday, formerly known as Candlemas, or from even more ancient times in Ireland, Imbolc.

It's one of the great cross-quarter days of the year: if you represent the year as a circle divided into seasonal quarters by the two solstices and the two equinoxes, then superimpose an "X" dividing the circle into eighths, Candlemas will be the line halfway between the winter solstice and the vernal equinox.

February 2 is actually the true beginning of spring, when the earth, now swollen with the winter rains, begins to stir. The daylight is waxing and darkness is waning, as the promise of the sun's return, made at the solstice, becomes abundantly manifested. Today's beautiful weather in Seattle is right on cue.

For those reasons and more, we celebrate Candlemas as a day of renewal and rejuvenation, a good time to shore up the New Year's resolutions and to re-commit to our plans of dedication to a discipline, a program, or a plan of action. Reflecting on the significance of the ancient holidays and feast days is also a way to re-connect with the consciousness of our ancestors, which was embedded deeply in the slow and majestic rhythms of the earth and sky.

For a more comprehensive treatment of this important day, see Seattle blogger Waverly Fitzgerald's School of the Seasons.

Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

outlook

2011-01-20T18:03:00.000-08:00

Doing a regular meditation practice changes a person. I can't actually describe the changes, possibly because I have no particular goal or plan I'm pursuing. I just do what my teachers tell me, and try to do it according to their instructions.

But here's an example. Earlier today I was all set to go to my favorite political discussion board and mix it up with a few wingnuts, but then realized I didn't really feel like it. The combative impulse just wasn't there.

Meditation won't change the world, but it sure changes the view of the world a person gets from inside his own head.

Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

new cards for a new year

2011-01-17T15:11:00.000-08:00

For my first reading of the new year I decided to try a new deck of cards. These are the wonderful Mexican loteria (bingo) cards which are used for that universally popular game south of the border. On the back of each card is a "riddle" or, more correctly, an aphorism which gives a hint about the identity of the image. These are used by the caller to enhance the game, but I've found that they are also clues, sometimes obvious and sometimes cryptic, which shed light on the meaning of the image.

For example, the first of my three cards drawn for January turned up one of the more arcane images, Las Jaras (the arrows). The aphorism Las jaras del indio Adan, donde pegan dan closely translated is "The arrows of the Indian Adam, where they stick." I interpret that as saying that the fundamental nature of people, or of any given person, the fundamental building blocks and patterns of what we call a personality, are set in place very early and don't change thereafter, no matter how many transformations one passes through. This is particularly pertinent to my situation, because even though I've experienced a lot of life-altering changes in the past few years, I'm still, at the most fundamental level, the same person I've always been.

Next came an image which I'd found mysterious until now, but it's meaning clicked into place when it appeared in the center of this draw, at this time in my life. No te arrugues cuero viejo, que te quieropa tambor reads the aphorism for the drum, which roughly means "You may be wrinkled, old leather, but I want to use you for my drum." I may be an old man, and an old wrinkled piece of leather, but there are still a lot of songs left in me. And in this case having drawn that particular instrument among the several in the deck may be significant as well. I wonder if there's still a bit of percussion in my future.

The final image, the simple star shining in a night sky, conveys the same meaning as the more elaborate star picture of the tarot deck -- hope. La guia de los marineros, "the sailors' guide," is the simple and transparent aphorism. It's a reassurance that the sailor on his long journey will eventually return safely to home port, and tells me I need to keep following the guiding stars I've depended on these past few years, which have led me out of a wilderness of despair and back into the sunlight.

Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

how it spoze to be

2011-01-09T17:05:00.000-08:00

Yoga every day. Eating nothing but beneficial food, most of it either raw or very lightly cooked. Not smoking anything, not even vaporizing lately.

The result? Muscles toned, joints flexible, breath coming easily, digestion sound, mind clear and at peace.

This is the way a person is spoze to feel -- what Gary Kraftsow calls "optimal." This is how it spoze to be.

Etaoin Shrdlu
--30--

bananavocadorange

2010-12-21T17:16:00.000-08:00

Lunch for me is the same every day. It's built around a banana, an avocado, and an orange, and may occupy an hour or two of each early afternoon.

More and more, I regard food as medicine which doesn't have to be unpleasant, or a chore to take, and fruit as the most natural food for humans, considering the state to which our digestive systems have evolved. It's mostly what our recent ancestors who lived in the trees lived on.

Oranges, bananas, and avocados are all teeming with essential nutrients. The 70 milligrams of vitamin C in a medium-size orange is its outstanding attribute, and it contains 237 mg of potassium as well. Bananas have even more potassium, 422 mg, but the mighty avocado seems to be the king of fruits, containing 975 mg of potassium and significant amounts of niacin, pantothenic acid, vitamin A, and B vitamins in addition to four grams of protein.

I usually start with the orange, and even though I'm supposed to avoid dairy, I can't resist having a few slices of cheese with it. The wonderful taste of the combination is simply too good to pass up. Then comes the banana, al fresco.

It took me a long time to warm up to avocados, and I still don't like eating them by themselves. So I mash my daily avocado up in a bowl, mix it with a squirt of lemon juice and black pepper, and scoop it up with low-fat and very inoffensive tortilla chips from Trader Joe's.

I'd recommend this lunch to anybody except people who may be allergic to one or more of the three. It's filling, but also provides a good way for a person to maintain or lose weight, especially if you skip the cheese.

--30--

portrait 11/30/2010

2010-11-30T19:10:00.000-08:00

--30--

straight 8

2010-11-27T05:29:00.000-08:00

...............................The list of supplements I'm taking every day adds up to about $480 a month. The first six directly address symptoms of Parkinsonism, although some of them have additional benefits; N-acetyl-L-cysteine promotes respiratory function; D3 helps with skin disorders; marijuana is an anti-depressant.

Co-enzyme Q10................200/mo

Glutathione.........................110

Homocystrol.........................15

NAC.......................................16

Vitamin D3............................13

Marijuana...............................50

Red yeast rice.......................16
(cholesterol control)

Nicotine patch........................60

This tells me that I need to work enough to come up with about $500 a month in additional income.

In addition to the supplements, I follow dietary requirements: a daily dose of carrot juice, fish three to five times a week, lots of turmeric and pinto beans. Then there's exercise -- usually the topic of this blog -- including exercise for the breath and the mind.

--30--

sun

2010-11-04T07:34:00.001-07:00

Monday, rained out, ugly.

Since then, warm with plenty of sunshine, and we're supposed to get more of the same 2day. Haven't missed a day on the bicycle.

You really don't expect weather like we've been having at this time of year.

No home practice today; thursday means yoga in greenwood in the pm. So morning and early afternoon will be devoted to house cleaning.

Better get started!

--30--

rain

2010-11-01T16:30:00.000-07:00

Nasty, rainy weather today. I started to go outside for a walk at one point, but didn't even get to the end of the walkway before turning back and coming inside.

******************************************
Where is the dividing line between the body and the mind? In examining cases of spontaneous remission of cancers and other diseases, Robert Anton Wilson points out that such phenomena only remain inexplicable as long as we reside under the sway of the mind-body dichotomy. This bafflement persists because of what Wilson calls "our habit of thinking that anything we have split verbally must reflect a similar Iron Curtain in the non-verbal existential world.* This is similar, he points out, to what's happened in the physical sciences, where post-Einstein scientists no longer deal with space and time, but space-time. Similar considerations led the Buddha to conclude, contrary to Hindu orthodoxy, that there is no immortal self housed within the mortal body-mind, that such a concept is "an illusion, a dream," and that a "self" (or human being) is a heap of undifferentiated characteristics.

*******************************************
As I went through daily practice today I was mentally in the breath as it united with the physical process. Effortless mindfulness, free of distraction, can be learned along with learning the habit of not differentiating.

*Quantum Psychology, p. 134.

--30--

body & soul

2010-10-18T14:49:00.000-07:00

Today is one of those days spent entirely attending to self-maintenance. Might as well; I have nothing better to do.

After a necessary and crucial good night's sleep, began the morning (after e-mails, etc.) with pranayama and meditation, the former accompanied by the mesmerizing drone of a tanpura, the latter in silence.

Breakfast, the usual couple of eggs, will be succeeded for the rest of the day by vegan fare -- fruit, nuts, brown rice type of stuff.

After a thorough shower, shave, tooth cleaning, and so forth, dressed warmly for the bike ride to Greenwood (even now, at 3 p.m., it's just barely above 50). I'm returned home from Capitol Hill now, so back to scrupulously working on leaving the faintest possible carbon footprint.

During an hour in the studio, fitted into place the final piece of daily practice, movement and exercise (asana). I noticed while working that daily yoga pays dividends; all my muscles are well toned, the body balanced and well proportioned if somewhat undersized and underweight.

Got my cardio workout on the bike ride home. (Going to Greenwood is downhill, returning is uphill.) I've become a believer in the necessity of daily cardio-pulmonary work -- as necessary as stretching and moving to achieve strength and flexibility.

Some people might say all of this is self-indulgent and narcissistic, and i suppose to some extent that's true. But I don't have much else to do, and anyway the better care each of us takes of ourselves now, the less someone else will have to take care of us later on.

Right now I think I'll go stir in what at this point is the only missing ingredient -- a nap.

--30--

simplicity

2010-10-14T19:07:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I moved up to Capitol Hill for a few days of cat sitting, taking care of Ole. Besides having to drive more to get to where I need to go, being here is not much different from being home. Life has begun to be pretty much the same anywhere I go.

I moved across town with a small knapsack with a couple changes of clothes in it, a bag of groceries and supplements, a few toiletries, a laptop and a cell phone. I also came with a car, of course, but I'm getting to the point where I could carry everything I need on a bicycle, and ditch the car. I could be gone from home for six months and never miss a thing.

How simple my life has gotten. When I was married, owned a home, and was working things always seemed a lot more complicated. I think it was working that mostly made it that way, since a person needs to figure out how to fit in all that other stuff we need to do around working. But now life is amazingly simplified, and it gets simpler all the time, and any place I go, I'm home.

--30--

ascending

2010-10-03T18:52:00.000-07:00

At this point it's all about breath. 50 Years of smoking can't be overcome, but with adaptation even emphysematic breathing can be optimized.

Practice starts with establishing a relatively slow and deep breath pattern, with abdominally-activated exhalation. Once movement begins, the initial pattern is retained for the duration of practice, and closely linked with the movements throughout.

Pranayama follows, and sometimes there's difficulty. The concentrated and purposeful breathing can be frequently interrupted by coughing, as the discipline of yoga activates fluids and impurities in the lungs and encourages the body to expel them. That's actually a good sign, indicating a slow but gradual improvement in the baseline condition of the respiratory organs.

Related: I've lowered the temperature of the marijuana vaporizer from 350F to 325, because the cooker was giving off a bit of smoke at the higher temperature. Smoking not allowed!

--30--

strength and weakness

2010-09-15T10:47:00.000-07:00

It's not always easy to tell the difference between strength and weakness.

Sometimes belligerence and a willingness to use force seem bold and courageous, when they're really not. Sometimes tolerance and forgiveness seem weak or wimpy when they're actually just the opposite.

It seems ironic to me at times that at the same time I gather strength with age, the society I find myself living in falls ever more deeply into irreversible and fatal weakness. The profound spiritual illness we've suffered as a people is nothing new, but it becomes more intense as the nation clings ever more tightly to bad habits and destructive behaviors, especially indulging in perpetual and pointless wars, and abandoning the national conversation to a professional commentariat employed by a mercenary and commercialized mass electronic media.

That latter group has taken over the function of thinking for us, so we don't have to.

I contrast this sad situation with my own, personal circumstances. My body is getting gradually stronger, even though I have a couple of degenerative conditions which will no doubt grow worse at some point. My breath is still troubled, but improved and progressing. My mind is clear; my spirit becoming aware of itself, and acquiring shape and substance.

This is strange and interesting, and it's hard telling what my long-range reaction to the combined set of circumstances will be, or what it should be.

Illustration: St. Michael the Archangel defeats the Devil and kicks him down to hell.

--30--

fall sunshine

2010-09-11T17:27:00.000-07:00

It was a wonderful, gorgeous fall day in Seattle today, with lots of clouds but lots of sunshine too, and temps in the low sixties.

I did a long, slow, indoor yoga practice, but spent most of the day outside on the bike, just cruising around the neighborhood and soaking up as much sun as possible. Winters last a long time around here, and you have to take advantage when you can.

I have to say, hardly anything has ever given me a sense of empowerment, or of powerful independence, like this bike has. I think it could make the average person feel twice as strong.

I really have to get out and explore the Burke-Gilman Trail a little bit before winter sets in.

--30--

past imperfect

2010-08-23T16:06:00.000-07:00

In dreams last night I found myself once more in the company of someone who was for a time very dear to me. She was giving me frequent injections of amphetamine, which I didn't want to take. But I submitted obediently, while questioning the reason why such a pointlessly harmful procedure was necessary.

I didn't get an answer, just an admonition that "You need to take your medicine."

The shots weren't particularly painful, and in the dream space I didn't feel the radical effect that would actually result from a dose of crank. But I knew that those closely-spaced administrations of the drug had to be doing me harm, and wondered why I was going along with the routine.

Then the curtain of darkness dropped, and when it was lifted again I was alone and standing before a bathroom mirror. I was shocked to discover that I had gone completely bald on top. "I must not have noticed because of this fringe of hair I still have in front," I said to myself, and then in one of those changes of perspective peculiar to dreams, saw the top of my head from above. I still had the aforementioned line of fuzz along the top of the forehead, and hair along the sides and back of the skull, but the entire top was as hairless and shiny as a cue ball.

I can't interpret the first part of the dream. However, chapter two is clear enough: a dream of losing one's hair, especially occurring in people for whom that fate is highly unlikely, is almost always a symbolic expression of emasculation.

Photograph by JKirlin.

--30--

different day, different world

2010-08-21T17:10:00.000-07:00

Something is happening to me and I'm not quite sure what it is. This morning during meditation I descended pretty far down the mine shaft. It was very quiet down there, but also very bright, with lots of what looked like colored lights flaring and then fading, mostly purple and yellow ones.

Gradually returning to the world, I poured a cup of coffee and prepared to sit down to do battle on the internet. But I couldn't do it. Something was different. Instead of anticipating arguing brilliantly on a discussion board, or wowing correspondents with my flashy and elegant prose, I was mildly repulsed by the prospect.

So I took a shower and went grocery shopping (with a list of course), and even drove to the store -- the first Saturday I've driven since I got the bike, I think. Then I parked and walked up to the Uncouth Buzzard to get something to read. The interesting and unusual proprietor checked my account in his account books, rather than with a computer, as people once did and will again. And since my account is active, I got a used copy of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's "One Hundred Years of Solitude" for $1.37.

I've waited for about 50 years to start this book, and I waited until exactly the right time, the right day even. This guy's imagination is like an out-of-control zucchini patch, and he makes no effort to restrain it. it's all very Latin as one might expect. They experience the world differently than we do, and when talented express themselves with lavish exuberance.

I don't understand what happened this morning, and it certainly wasn't intentional. I don't know were this is leading, and it's a little strange at times, but I like it.

--30--

turbulence

2010-08-18T17:13:00.001-07:00

The water and air of my mind are choppy, unstable, disturbed by the book I just finished reading, what I've been doing, and what I've been thinking. Even the morning practice failed to yield the sense of placid equilibrium it usually does, although it helped settle things down quite a bit.

We're partly political animals, that's for sure, and we should be. After all, we have to live in the objective world of concrete, cars, cats, and cluster bombs. So we look for a Moses or a Mohammad to lead us out of the wilderness of our own confusion. If we can get a grip on what's happening, we'll have a pretty good idea of what's going to happen, and that will help us to know how to respond.

In his first sermon in the Deer Park, the Buddha said this world is a snare and a delusion. But I don't think he meant that we should respond with navel-gazing, withdrawal, and feigned ignorance. The world we look upon is a delusion because it never stops changing, but we still have to be here now.

Sculptural assemblage, "Paradise Lost" by Jud Turner.

--30--

optimum health

2010-08-11T07:53:00.000-07:00

Achieving optimum health -- the best health we can enjoy under our particular individual circumstances -- is a fairly simple matter, but not easy. Though there are few rules, observing them means giving up a lot of the things we've grown used to.

Most of us really need to tighten up our intake of free radicals, that cell-destroying, one-electron-short matter we pick up heavy doses of in most restaurants, where cooking oil is used, re-used, and absolutely poisonous after a time. A lot of processed food releases free radicals as well. Overloading the system with free radicals leads to noticeable intestinal, skin, and immune system distress in most people in a fairly short time, with a few inexplicable exceptions.

As far as a very short dietary prescription is concerned, I can't do any better than echo Michael Pollan: "Eat food; not too much, mostly plants."* This abbreviated but comprehensive advice is as notable for what's left out as what's included -- Pollan implies we should eat little meat, very little in the way of dairy products, because we're eating mostly fruits, vegetables, whole grains, nuts, and legumes.

Any population that follows that simple formula will be very nearly free of obesity and diabetes, and a lot of heart and arterial problems would be more seldom seen.

Everybody should exercise. Morning stretches and later on a cardio workout of some kind are necessary to achieving and maintaining optimum health. A good cardio workout is a vigorous bike ride or swim.

Alkalized water as a constant drink helps balance Ph levels and contributes significantly to optimum health. Some people pay thousands for machines that alkalize their drinking water, but lemons are the best natural alkalizer, and a lot cheaper.

Drugs are always a problem. It's probably best to leave them alone entirely, but nobody does. Like a lot of people, I take two prescription drugs and both have side effects. But they also enhance my life and contribute to optimum health. So do some "recreational" drugs if they're not overused. We should probably stay away from drugs like nicotine and cocaine altogether, because they're so addictive. Alcohol is good for people and a wonderful social lubricant if taken in small to moderate amounts, and likewise coffee and marijuana, are both mood enhancers. In all cases, the biggest danger is from the temptations of overindulgence and dependency.

Finally, work, but not too much. Sleep as much as you want, unless you find yourself sleeping 13 hours a day, in which case you're depressed, and that's not healthy.

*Michael Pollan, "In Defense of Food" (see sidebar on left; click on "Read This Book").

--30--

breath in, breath out

2010-08-08T13:00:00.000-07:00

...(T)he Buddha spoke and said:

...the method of being fully aware of breathing, if developed and practiced continuously, will have great rewards and bring great advantages.

It is like this: the practitioner goes into the forest or to the foot of a tree...and sits stably...holding the body quite straight. Breathing in, one knows that one is breathing in; and breathing out, one knows that one is breathing out.

Breathing in a long breath, one knows, "I am breathing in a long breath;" breathing out a long breath, one knows, "I am breathing out a long breath."

Breathing in a short breath, one knows, "I am breathing in a short breath;" breathing out a short breath, one knows, "I am breathing out a short breath."

...This is how one practices.

"I am breathing in and making my whole body calm and at peace. I am breathing out and making my whole body calm and at peace."

"I am breathing in and am aware of the activities of the mind in me. I am breathing out and am aware of the activities of the mind in me." One practices like this.

"I am breathing in and concentrating my mind. I am breathing out and concentrating my mind." One practices like this.

The Full Awarenss of Breathing, if developed and practiced continuously according to these instructions, will be rewarding and of great benefit.

Taken from "The Sutra on Full Awareness of Breathing," translated by Thich Nhat Hanh.

--30--

fifth chakra

2010-08-07T16:41:00.003-07:00

When I meditate it's on the chakras.

Up until now I've only done meditation on the first four, those lower points on the tree of life of the spine, on its trunk you could say, which is rooted in the earth and governs those parts of our existence we share with the animals, fundamental instinctive behaviors driven by the urge to survive, the need to procreate, to experience the transformations of birth, maturity, and death, and capacity for love.

These four are the eath-bound chakras, corresponding to the earthly elements: earth, water, fire, and air. I silently say the name of each, think of its characteristics, its associated element, its attributes and qualities, then with the breath going out silently chant its one-syllable root mantra, five breaths for each chakra.

Today I incorporated meditation on the fifth chakra, called vishuddhi, which is at that big knob at the top of the thoracic spine, where the neck begins. It corresponds with the throat, and governs the functions of voice, communication, and speech. At this point as a species we depart from the animals, since words are not things, but abstractions which symbolically correspond to things, and are beyond animal understanding. This capacity to form words and make speech is something we share with the gods rather than the other creatures on earth, thus the material associated with the fifth chakra is the ether of space, which is not of this world.

--30--

in memoriam

2010-08-02T15:29:00.000-07:00

Donald S. Brice, professional newsman. 1917 -- 1983.

Born on this day in Morenci, Arizona.

Had he lived till now he'd have been 93, the same age as the late Daniel Schorr, with whom he had a lot in common.

--30--

Too Much Yoga II

2010-07-29T17:25:00.000-07:00

For only the second time ever I think I'm yoga'd out.

Got up this morning and about 2/3 of of the way through my asana routine my daughter called. It was early, and she'd just got up and was on her way to the place where she coffees up.

Then, after a quick shower, it was off to Edmonds and working for an hour with the old guy who has Parkinson's and also suffered a couple of strokes. Poor guy. It's not yoga exactly, but it is exhausting.

Then it was the drive home, a quick lunch, and time to saddle up and head for Greenwood where I taught an hour-and-a-quarter class to four lovely ladies. It was a terrific class, but when you work with an older crew they like you to demo everything. By the end of it I was over yoga for the rest of the day, and right now I'm sitting in the Green Bean decompressing. The sun is out, it's after five, and the day is winding down. I just need to caffeinate, and find the energy to pedal home.

I'll be up early tomorrow, as usual. I've got class at 9:30 (as a participant, not an instructor).

--30--

simple moves

2010-07-26T14:32:00.003-07:00

I did my daily routine at Whole Life today where Sheryl led us through asana practice, and it was great. I've noticed that when yoga movements are left purposively simple and uncluttered, when there are not overly many of them and each is explored thoroughly, and the instructor moves through the sequence slowly and gracefully, with due deliberation, that it's much easier to tie one's breath to each movement, which is one of the main objectives of this discipline.

It begins with a complete preparation of breath and mind; the depth and frequency of breathing during movement is established before movement begins, and the mind cleared of extraneous clutter. The exercise of the asana sequence then becomes more like a formal dance than calisthenics, and the transition to pranayama, during which movement ceases and all attention becomes centered in the breath, is seamless. Following that, the stillness and internal focus of pranayama leads naturally into the deep interiority opened up during meditation.

I've done little more than scratch the surface of this discipline for the body, breath, and mind. Still, that exploration, which grows gradually deeper with time, has made a tremendous difference in my life, especially enhancing the ability to see clearly. Some of the time I feel as if this vision is transmitted by an interior eye.

--30--

james alley blues

2010-07-18T18:51:00.001-07:00

Times ain't now nothing like they used to be;
No, times ain't now nothing like they used to be;
And I'm telling you all the truth -- Oh take it for me.

I done seen better days but I'm puttin' up with these;
I done seen better days but I'm puttin' up with these;
I'd have a much better time if these girls now weren't so hard to please.

'Cause I was born in the country you think I'm easy to rule;
'Cause I was born in the country she thinks I'm easy to rule;
She try ta hitch me to her wagon, she want to drive me like a mule.

You know I bought the groceries, and I pay the rent;
Yeah, I buy the groceries, and I pay the rent;
She tried to make me wash her clothes, but I got good common sense.

I said, If you don't want me why don't you tell me so?
You know it? If you don't want me, why don't you tell me so?
Because I ain't like a man that ain't got nowhere to go.

I b'lieve I'll give you sugar for sugar, let you get salt for salt.
I'll give you sugar for sugar, let you get salt for salt,
And if you can't get along with me, well it's your own fault.

How you want me to love you, and you treat me mean?
How do you want me to love you? You keep a-treatin' me mean.
You're my daily thought, and my nightly dream.

Sometime I think that you're too sweet to die;
Sometime I think that you're too sweet to die;
And another time I think you ought to be buried alive.

--Richard "Rabbit" Brown, b. 1880.

Rabbit Brown lived in the toughest part of New Orleans, and resided on James Alley. This blues is his most famous song.

--30--

teaching yoga

2010-07-15T17:01:00.001-07:00

Today was a milestone of sorts. I've been teaching here and there and struggling with it, mainly because so many of the people I deal with in my classes struggle with it. Most of them have serious limitations of one kind or another caused by arthritis, or high blood pressure, or Parkinson's Disease, or dementia, or a combination of two or more of those things. It's very difficult to find movements that people suffering such conditions are able to do that are also helpful for them, and that address their physical and mental irregularities. And imagine for a moment trying to get someone who's both hearing impaired and disoriented to follow simple instructions such as, "Sweep your right arm overhead as you inhale."

This morning I actually got some participants for my Thursday class up north (third time's a charm; I had nobody show up for the first two classes scheduled), a family. The wife didn't practice, but helped him through the moves. The granddaughter was an experienced yogini; what I was doing was too easy for her. But what're you gonna do?

I helped him as much as I could for about an hour. It was difficult and uneven, and I left the place wondering if I can help anyone, really. I was not looking forward to subbing a class back in town in the afternoon, because I pictured another challenge -- and I hate challenges. I had never been to this place before, I was subbing for a well-established teacher in a senior center, and I imagined an indifferent bunch of the usual older crew, with lots of problems and other issues. I ate a quick lunch at home, got on my bike, and apprehensively pedaled down there.

But they were warm and friendly, and though a mature group, seemed young. All were in fairly good shape, and for the first time in my short career I was able to run through a standard floor routine after beginning with a few minutes in chairs. It was the longest class I've taught so far, but I had no trouble filling the time, which was something I was concerned about beforehand. At the end of the hour and a quarter I filled up with a tremendous feeling of accomplishment and gratitude.

I'm a real yoga teacher, and it's great. I'm ready for a lot more of this. Where do I sign up?

--30--

merderer with yellow eyes

2010-07-13T18:04:00.001-07:00

Every once in a while you run across a short story that beautifully condenses the form down to the absolute essentials. This is such a story. It was written by a six-year-old in England some years ago.

THE MERDERER WITH YELLOW EYES

Once there was a merderer with yellow eyes and his wife said to him if you merder me you will be hung. And he was hung on tuesday next.

--30--

atop the ridge

2010-07-12T14:37:00.001-07:00

I went to the yoga studio for practice today instead of doing my regular home routine. I biked along the top of Phinney Ridge, mostly on Phinney Ave, and returned the same way.

It takes only about 15 minutes to cover the 25 blocks from my apartment down to 87th and Greenwood because it's a gentle declivity almost all the way, never steep, but you do almost all of it coasting and braking intermittently, unless you're a speed demon. Coming back is a little harder, of course, because a gentle declivity in reverse is a gentle incline, and that takes mostly first gear and about half an hour. So if you're going for yoga, this means you get a workout after your workout.

Practice was great today -- it was well-attended but not crowded; the routine Sheryl put us through was vigorous but not taxing (it is an over-fifties class, after all), and I got home with the muscles burning a bit as is appropriate to a post-exercise feeling, but having never broken a sweat, partly because the weather is much cooler today.

I think I'll finish lunch and take a nap. The beautiful life is by necessity simple and uncluttered. Tomorrow I have to do something complex and speedy, and drive the car 40 miles round trip to work. But until then I'll enjoy the pristine simplicity of today's hours.

--30--

birthday practice

2010-07-08T12:29:00.000-07:00

Today marks the beginning of my 66th year, and besides not expecting to live this long, I never imagined in my wildest dreams that I'd be in better shape than ever before. But so it goes, as the late Mr. Vonnegut often said, and besides enjoying excellent physical health, my mental and spiritual condition improve day by day.

You're a lucky guy, too, when you get birthday cards from two of your best friends who happen to be ex-wives. Interestingly enough, both sent Jacquie Lawson cards (though not the same one). I also got a greeting from my daughter, who called from the Netherlands just to wish the old man a happy birthday, and who reminded me once more of what wonderful things can happen when you combine two creative people and stir.

I just finished my daily practice -- so refreshing! I've gone back to my old practice because it contains almost all the elements I need every day. I'm thinking particularly of balance, always of prime importance in alleviating the effects of Parkinson's Disease, and inversion. Those headstands and/or shoulder stands reverse a lot more than just the flow of the body's vital juices; I'm convinced that to some extent they reverse aging as well.

It's a terrific day; the sun is shining and we're having a heat wave, which is fine with me, since where I recently migrated from we called weather like this a cold snap. Ok, that's an exaggeration, but in Desert Hot Springs, low 90's, even with humidity, is something of a relief this time of year. I picked up another temporary teaching assignment today and start next week, so everything is looking good. In fact, I can't think of anything I'd change. I suppose more money would be nice, but does anybody ever have enough money?

--30--

clearing in the west

2010-07-05T14:08:00.000-07:00

I just finished doing an hour of yoga in a studio with an instructor, and it was great -- exactly what one needs to get a running start at the fat part of the day.

And what a day it's going to be! There's actual clearing in the west, and in an hour or two the sun will be out to stay for a good long time. Gone is the gloom and funk of a cancelled spring and counterfeit summer. Gone, the depressed and enervated apathy of dashed hopes and unrealized "what-if's." For when sunlight warms the weary earth, coaxing her into yielding up one more crop, anything is possible.

The bicycle stands patiently in the garage, letting me know I can ride it any time I want. It's time to put the car away for the summer, except for trips of ten miles or more. It's a brand-new day today, and there's a brand-new world for it to happen in, making this an appropriate time to begin to "clear away the wreckage of the past," as they say in AA.

So let's begin. There's a lot to do.

Photograph by Larryosan.

--30--

inside out

2010-07-03T07:47:00.000-07:00

As I was going through my morning practice early today it occurred to me that we get what we need.

Devo has a new compilation on the market, and it's a sign of the times. Older and fatter now, but as irreverent as ever, they've replaced the drummer Alan Myers with Josh Freese, a capable veteran of Nine Inch Nails and Axl Rose's band. Other than that the personnel -- Mark and Gerry and their brothers, both Bobs, are the same, and so is the sound. The message is pretty much the same too, only a little more urgent now and more appropriate to the times than ever.

It also occurs to me that even though there seems to be a disconnect between our internal lives and what's happening outside, in "the world," that's an illusion. The laws of causation rule everything, and what we choose to become is to a large degree a response to what's going on around us.

It's very quiet in here this morning -- inside the apartment and inside my head. Outside, the world of human over-reach and of humanity suffering the disasters born out of hubris roar like wounded buffalo. There's no situation so bad that it can't be made worse by selfishness, dishonesty, and corruption.

It's only natural to search for purity in a dissolute world. With 23 pure and clean breaths undertaken with intense concentration, I'm ready for anything. What I expect will happen today is that a few more of my fellow citizens will wake up to the horrible reality in which we all find ourselves, and respond appropriately.

"Sooner or later," says Mark Mothersbaugh in one of the tracks on the new album, "everybody finds out."

--30--

new routine

2010-06-23T09:38:00.000-07:00

Since I've been doing the same daily yoga practice for over a year now, I decided it was time for a change, and moved to a new template suggested by Viniyoga's founder, Gary Kraftsow, as one that will engage the mind, specifically the intellect, and body simultaneously.

Instructions for the manomaya practice -- that's its name -- are laid out in the Kraftsow book I've enjoyed most, Yoga for Transformation.

The new practice takes about an hour, as did the old one, but has pranayama and meditation integrated into the sequence, whereas before asana, pranayama, and meditation were discrete elements practiced sequentially.

This new routine isn't hard, but it's demanding. The only pose I can't do by the book is Bharadvajrasana, which Gary is doing in the picture. I need a strap to access the foot resting on the thigh when my arm is coming around behind the back. With practice, I should be able to make the stretch.

--30--

a time fo de bike ride

2010-06-14T18:38:00.001-07:00

Fun time deh yah a time fo de bike ride,
Sunshine deh yah a time fo de bike ride,
Sunshine deh yah a time fo de bike ride,
Fun time deh yah a time fo de bike ride
NO!!

Bright sunshine and 70 degrees -- a time fo de bike ride, mon.

I seriously have to get myself a new bicycle seat. I have no built-in cushioning on my bony butt, so I require perch that includes a little gluteal compensatory material.

--30--