01 November 2008
Sarah???
A short thought, borrowed from that wonderful conservative writer, P.J. O'Rourke: if, God forbid, McCain wins and then, God forbid, he dies, we end up with this incredibly unprepared, frighteningly ignorant person as President, it will be like giving whiskey and car keys to a teenager. God help us! Vote for Obama!
26 October 2008
Guerrillas seize Gorilla Park in Congo
from CNN just now ...
It's finally happened! This is the headline I've been waiting for. Guerrillas have seized a Gorilla Park in the Congo. The refuge will now be called a Guerrilla Park. What the peaceful current residents will do does not bear thinking about. If there is Justice, they will eventually turn into the keepers of the Guerrillas. That just seems right, they are far more civilized!
It's finally happened! This is the headline I've been waiting for. Guerrillas have seized a Gorilla Park in the Congo. The refuge will now be called a Guerrilla Park. What the peaceful current residents will do does not bear thinking about. If there is Justice, they will eventually turn into the keepers of the Guerrillas. That just seems right, they are far more civilized!
05 October 2008
Nope, she's in disguise: She IS a pit bull with lipstick!
5 October 2008
Madrid
There is this thoughtful and passionate guy in Chicago. He's not perfect and his passion blinded him when he was younger. He's white, his name is Bill Ayers, one of the founders of the Weather Underground. He opposed the Vietnam War and he felt America was an unjust society. He advocated radical and even violent solutions to the problems that our society faced. So did the men who signed the Declaration of Independence.
This guy moderated as he grew older. He was still passionate and committed and and he spoke and wrote against injustice (including his own demon-ization). He crossed paths with a brilliant young Harvard lawyer who had opted not for a career of wealth and position in the private sector but had followed a path in politics, beginning with community service. They were acquaintances, not friends. I can't help think, though, that each must have understood, if not shared, the views of the other.
So, did the young, brilliant lawyer consort with a terrorist? Is there no redemption and is there no maturity? Did George Bush take drugs and drink as a young man?
The young Harvard lawyer was of mixed race parentage and raised by a single Mother and his mid-American, white grandparents. What he became and the opportunities he had must be credited to profound social changes that were partly the in reaction to passionate activism, acts of civil disobedience, and, yes, absolutely wrongly, occasional violence by people like the older white man and his ilk (black and white). Both constitutional left and right also fought against an unjust system and we evolved into a society that, still far from perfect, accepts now as a fundamental value that every citizen, every citizen! has the right to life, to liberty and to happiness. And happiness is the result of living in a nation where we are free from fear and where each of us can pursue her or his dream limited only by our individual capacities and the rightful human boundaries that come from a mutual commitment to justice and opportunity for all.
The acquaintance between the older white man and the committed young lawyer was transient, no more than the passing of two ships. Perhaps the memory of seeing and hearing the other did have a benefit. Maybe the older man got some satisfaction in recognising that the younger was evidence that change does indeed happen and things can get better. Could it be that the younger recognised in the older a man who believed in justice but advocated a flawed and illogical path to it? Maybe the younger was made wiser. He now speaks richly and convincingly of a national commitment to a political life whose objective is right and proper: a just and happy society.
Aristotle would be proud.
Sarah Palin attacks this? This act of desperation paints her not as a hockey mom but as that pit bull with lipstick - an unreflective attack machine. I am so disappointed that John McCain's campaign has moved in this direction. If you go down to defeat, do so honorably.
I wrote the Senator that I can no longer support him. I question his judgement in selecting Palin. I initially welcomed her nomination -- a breath of fresh political air but, having listened to her, listened to the debate and reflected on it, I believe the nomination devalues the office and insults the American people. We deserve a better, wiser and more experienced Vice President. Joe Lieberman would have been a good choice. I do not know that it would have swayed me to McCain in the end but I am positive that his ticket will not receive my support!
Madrid
There is this thoughtful and passionate guy in Chicago. He's not perfect and his passion blinded him when he was younger. He's white, his name is Bill Ayers, one of the founders of the Weather Underground. He opposed the Vietnam War and he felt America was an unjust society. He advocated radical and even violent solutions to the problems that our society faced. So did the men who signed the Declaration of Independence.
This guy moderated as he grew older. He was still passionate and committed and and he spoke and wrote against injustice (including his own demon-ization). He crossed paths with a brilliant young Harvard lawyer who had opted not for a career of wealth and position in the private sector but had followed a path in politics, beginning with community service. They were acquaintances, not friends. I can't help think, though, that each must have understood, if not shared, the views of the other.
So, did the young, brilliant lawyer consort with a terrorist? Is there no redemption and is there no maturity? Did George Bush take drugs and drink as a young man?
The young Harvard lawyer was of mixed race parentage and raised by a single Mother and his mid-American, white grandparents. What he became and the opportunities he had must be credited to profound social changes that were partly the in reaction to passionate activism, acts of civil disobedience, and, yes, absolutely wrongly, occasional violence by people like the older white man and his ilk (black and white). Both constitutional left and right also fought against an unjust system and we evolved into a society that, still far from perfect, accepts now as a fundamental value that every citizen, every citizen! has the right to life, to liberty and to happiness. And happiness is the result of living in a nation where we are free from fear and where each of us can pursue her or his dream limited only by our individual capacities and the rightful human boundaries that come from a mutual commitment to justice and opportunity for all.
The acquaintance between the older white man and the committed young lawyer was transient, no more than the passing of two ships. Perhaps the memory of seeing and hearing the other did have a benefit. Maybe the older man got some satisfaction in recognising that the younger was evidence that change does indeed happen and things can get better. Could it be that the younger recognised in the older a man who believed in justice but advocated a flawed and illogical path to it? Maybe the younger was made wiser. He now speaks richly and convincingly of a national commitment to a political life whose objective is right and proper: a just and happy society.
Aristotle would be proud.
Sarah Palin attacks this? This act of desperation paints her not as a hockey mom but as that pit bull with lipstick - an unreflective attack machine. I am so disappointed that John McCain's campaign has moved in this direction. If you go down to defeat, do so honorably.
I wrote the Senator that I can no longer support him. I question his judgement in selecting Palin. I initially welcomed her nomination -- a breath of fresh political air but, having listened to her, listened to the debate and reflected on it, I believe the nomination devalues the office and insults the American people. We deserve a better, wiser and more experienced Vice President. Joe Lieberman would have been a good choice. I do not know that it would have swayed me to McCain in the end but I am positive that his ticket will not receive my support!
20 September 2008
South Africa ... into the future?
20 Sep. 08
Jacob Zuma scares the hell out of me. Although Mbeki had a bit of a bad start with some of his public statements, the place has been moving on; it’s been way too slow for the people in the townships – who have shown the patience of stones – but progress nonetheless. Mbeki had a tough act to follow.
South Africa had bright prospects yesterday. They will be hosting the World Cup in 2010, there has been more investment and the knowledge base – key to success and still largely white – has mostly stayed in place. Apparently this bully boy, and that is the way they paint him, doesn’t just have a closet of skeletons, the rumours suggest he needs a shipping container to hold them.
I worry that Zuma could be another evil-minded populist like Mr. Mugabe in Zimbabwe. What I hold on to is that the hope of progress in the townships, the patience of its people and the roots of democracy and justice are deep enough in the fertile soil of that beautiful land that it can survive what looks like just another demagogue.
International sport is politics. Maybe the 2010 World Cup will help to preserve the best chance for the conversion of that continent, the victim of a millennium of exploitation, into all that it should be.
Jacob Zuma scares the hell out of me. Although Mbeki had a bit of a bad start with some of his public statements, the place has been moving on; it’s been way too slow for the people in the townships – who have shown the patience of stones – but progress nonetheless. Mbeki had a tough act to follow.
South Africa had bright prospects yesterday. They will be hosting the World Cup in 2010, there has been more investment and the knowledge base – key to success and still largely white – has mostly stayed in place. Apparently this bully boy, and that is the way they paint him, doesn’t just have a closet of skeletons, the rumours suggest he needs a shipping container to hold them.
I worry that Zuma could be another evil-minded populist like Mr. Mugabe in Zimbabwe. What I hold on to is that the hope of progress in the townships, the patience of its people and the roots of democracy and justice are deep enough in the fertile soil of that beautiful land that it can survive what looks like just another demagogue.
International sport is politics. Maybe the 2010 World Cup will help to preserve the best chance for the conversion of that continent, the victim of a millennium of exploitation, into all that it should be.
14 September 2008
Madrid, 13 September 2008
Maria ...
Her name is Maria. She’s about 200 years old with a gold rimmed tooth, leathery skin, a serious limp, horny old hands, dressed in a representative sample of rag-picker’s discards. Some tell me she’s ‘Romana’ but she’s ‘gitana’ – maybe the same thing but she is, to my mind, Romany.
She stands outside the Majorca, Madrid’s most upmarket delicatessen, at the corner of Don Ramon de la Cruz and Velazquez. As you leave that old hand is stretched up as high as she can reach, right into you face and the cadence is high and plaintive – ‘una moneda, por favor, una moneda’.
Sometimes I meet Maria and that intrusive hand on my street, a couple of blocks from her normal stand in front of the Majorca, sometimes on Ortega y Gasset, lined with tony shops like Chanel, Hermes, Tods and Lora Piano, that hand still up and in my face.
A few weeks ago Maria and I reached an accord, for 2 euros a week she would be happy and I would be free of that hand. If she could convince a hundred of us to do that, she’d be okay.
This arrangement worked well, for the first several weeks we ran into each other and I gave her my protection money. One week she wasn’t at her usual spot for a day or two and I felt a bit guilty until I saw her one day across the street. For some reason I had to walk her down and give her my 2 euros. I felt better. Damn, Maria is good at this.
One morning, walking the dog, I saw a 10 euro bill on the street outside Chanel. I picked it up and looked around, maybe the owner had just dropped it. There was no one on my side of the street and across the road there was only another dog walker, this one being pulled determinedly up the sidewalk by an 80 pound German Shepherd. I stuck the bill into my pocket and went back home.
On Friday I was peckish around 2 PM. Too lazy to fix myself something, I strolled over the Majorca, greeting Maria on my way in, picking up a couple of their exquisite ‘ingleses’ – Jamon iberico, queso de Burgos, a slice of tomato all stuffed into a soft, golden-brown roll.
I passed Maria again on my way out. She smiled through a mass of brown wrinkles. Something tweaked and I stopped and asked her if she had a relative in the area? Yes, her sister Anna worked in front of Corte Ingles (the department store) on Serrano. Since I’d put a name to that hand and her creased old face, I had finally noted the similarity.
We spoke for a minute or two and I recall asking her how she was feeling. In answer she pulled open her bag and pulled out a handful of prescriptions from the government clinic, explaining they were for her leg, pulling up her long skirt to the knee and showing me an ugly, swollen joint.
I gave Maria that 10 euro note which wasn’t mine. Before I could protest, she had grabbed my hand and ...she kissed it.
I’m embarrassed and moved and saddened. We were players in a Dickensian drama but it’s the third millennium!
Next time I think I’ll find out more about that leg and see if I can give some of my money rather than just return a 10 euro note I found on the street, which is hers.
10 September 2008
CERN?
Madrid, 10 September 2008
This ought to be an interesting day. The stock market on Tuesday took back all that it had given on Monday. I have a blinking screen which shows how things are going in my portfolio -- an emaciated thing in the best of times -- and yesterday it was a grim red (ie, down) for most the day. Last night we had a terrific storm here in Madrid. I was awakened to the booming echoes of thunder and the rat-a-tat of a hard rain. I dragged myself down the hall to Alex's room. She normally sleeps with the door to her bedroom open so I wanted to make sure that she'd closed it. With the amazing capacity of teenagers to sleep through alarms, wars and, this time, acts of nature, she was happily unconscious of the rain and, I discovered, the hail which was bouncing off the balcony, through the door and around her room. I closed the doors, turned off the lights that she'd left on and made my way back to bed where I read myself to sleep, ignoring the second augury of the day.
So, with these indications that both nature and the human world are in some state of turmoil, I look to today with some trepidation and we try to mix the natural and the human at CERN. We are going to turn that thing on today for the first time. If all goes well, a huge step forward, human knowledge and ingenuity working with nature to discover the secrets of the univers. If it doesn't go so well, I guess Alex will not have to worry about her homework today and I actually wont have to pay taxes ...
There is always a bright side.
This ought to be an interesting day. The stock market on Tuesday took back all that it had given on Monday. I have a blinking screen which shows how things are going in my portfolio -- an emaciated thing in the best of times -- and yesterday it was a grim red (ie, down) for most the day. Last night we had a terrific storm here in Madrid. I was awakened to the booming echoes of thunder and the rat-a-tat of a hard rain. I dragged myself down the hall to Alex's room. She normally sleeps with the door to her bedroom open so I wanted to make sure that she'd closed it. With the amazing capacity of teenagers to sleep through alarms, wars and, this time, acts of nature, she was happily unconscious of the rain and, I discovered, the hail which was bouncing off the balcony, through the door and around her room. I closed the doors, turned off the lights that she'd left on and made my way back to bed where I read myself to sleep, ignoring the second augury of the day.
So, with these indications that both nature and the human world are in some state of turmoil, I look to today with some trepidation and we try to mix the natural and the human at CERN. We are going to turn that thing on today for the first time. If all goes well, a huge step forward, human knowledge and ingenuity working with nature to discover the secrets of the univers. If it doesn't go so well, I guess Alex will not have to worry about her homework today and I actually wont have to pay taxes ...
There is always a bright side.
30 August 2008
Cafe Comercial -- Madrid ...
Cafe Comercial is well over a hundred and twenty years old. It opens towards the Glorieta de Bilbao. In the morning there is breakfast and they cook lunch and dinner as well. Their tapas are good and the white wine is crispy cold. The coffee is that over-cooked, torrefacto stuff that you seem to encounter everywhere in Spain. The granizados, though, are cool and lemon-y.
There are black and white marble tables inside. They have been there for decades. The wooden chairs are functional but also comfortable. You can sit in one for several hours, reading a book or writing a poem or an essay.
For twelve decades middle-aged men, eccentrically but comfortably dressed, have wandered into the Cafe Comercial in the afternoon. They have taken individual tables and sipped sparingly at a coffee or a fizzy water, sometimes an ice-cold white wine or a beer with ‘limon’, making the beverage last for two hours or more. They have read books, serious literature, poetry, philosophy or history. Some have written things, good things.
The marble table-tops somehow cool the air and in the low afternoon light of a summer day, there can be few better places on earth to companionably be alone than in the Cafe Comercial on the Glorieta de Bilbao.
There are black and white marble tables inside. They have been there for decades. The wooden chairs are functional but also comfortable. You can sit in one for several hours, reading a book or writing a poem or an essay.
For twelve decades middle-aged men, eccentrically but comfortably dressed, have wandered into the Cafe Comercial in the afternoon. They have taken individual tables and sipped sparingly at a coffee or a fizzy water, sometimes an ice-cold white wine or a beer with ‘limon’, making the beverage last for two hours or more. They have read books, serious literature, poetry, philosophy or history. Some have written things, good things.
The marble table-tops somehow cool the air and in the low afternoon light of a summer day, there can be few better places on earth to companionably be alone than in the Cafe Comercial on the Glorieta de Bilbao.
The Greek National Tourism Office
I watch a lot of CNN -- somehow I've grown disenchanted with the BBC (except for parts of Radio 4 which, living in Spain now, I miss very much) -- but CNN International can also be both boring and repetitive. From time to time the advertisements are more compelling than the regular programming. For instance, in the wake of the Olympics the Chinese have launched a semi-tourism/awareness campaign which is wonderful, compelling, colourful and inviting. I spent five years travelling to China and since have not had much desire to go back for any extended time -- these spots are changing my mind.
On the other hand -- and there's always another one! -- the Greeks have dropped a clanger. What they ought to drop is their advertising agency. I'm not sure of the theme of the campaign, run by the Tourism Ministry, but it seems to be something like 'highlights of an amazing waste of money and time in Greece'. It is visually washed out and and out of focus and every character in it seems to suffer from a serious case of ennui! The scenes of Greece, completely pedestrian city-scapes, unattractive beaches, shallow and callow young people you wouldn't want to spend more than a few milli-seconds with, leave me more than cold, they repel me!
I promise never to go to Greece if you continue this awfulness, Greek Tourist Office/Ministry, but I promise to think about going if you will please take these things off the air and put the actors in them out of their misery! Remember what brought you here -- the Parthenon, islands, crystal seas, history, Zorba ...
On the other hand -- and there's always another one! -- the Greeks have dropped a clanger. What they ought to drop is their advertising agency. I'm not sure of the theme of the campaign, run by the Tourism Ministry, but it seems to be something like 'highlights of an amazing waste of money and time in Greece'. It is visually washed out and and out of focus and every character in it seems to suffer from a serious case of ennui! The scenes of Greece, completely pedestrian city-scapes, unattractive beaches, shallow and callow young people you wouldn't want to spend more than a few milli-seconds with, leave me more than cold, they repel me!
I promise never to go to Greece if you continue this awfulness, Greek Tourist Office/Ministry, but I promise to think about going if you will please take these things off the air and put the actors in them out of their misery! Remember what brought you here -- the Parthenon, islands, crystal seas, history, Zorba ...
Wow! Sarah Palin ...
Madrid, 30 August 2008 ...cool (ish) and partly cloudy (for a change!)
McCain has pulled this one out of his hat! What a choice! I've been reading and researching about this woman for the past several hours -- her story is as compelling as Barak Obama's, if not more! She ticks the boxes that McCain can't tick. I hope that she can stand up to the microscope that is about to be put to every chapter of her life. Glad I don't have to explain everything I was doing 20 or 30 years ago!
I wonder, too, if there is a connection to Michael Palin here somewhere? Monty Python takes Washington!
McCain has pulled this one out of his hat! What a choice! I've been reading and researching about this woman for the past several hours -- her story is as compelling as Barak Obama's, if not more! She ticks the boxes that McCain can't tick. I hope that she can stand up to the microscope that is about to be put to every chapter of her life. Glad I don't have to explain everything I was doing 20 or 30 years ago!
I wonder, too, if there is a connection to Michael Palin here somewhere? Monty Python takes Washington!
23 August 2008
Madrid, 23 August 2008, lives ripped from us ....
... that mark our place and in the sky ...
...the planes still bravely winging fly ...
It was warm and quiet on Wednesday afternoon. Madrid in August is, in my view, at its best. There is no traffic, the boiling July heat has given way to a milder warmth and for those restaurants that are open, no reservations are required. A great place to be.
Still, some people still work and that involves travel; others drive off to holiday homes in the sierras or fly to island retreats.
So, three days ago I drove out to pick up a colleague who was flying in from Switzerland. The traffic was light so that I noticed the ambulance behind me, surely one of the first, earlier than on a busy day and scooted over a lane to let him pass, siren screaming and lights flashing.
On the horizon the black smoke was just starting to boil up. The plane cannot have gone down more than a minute or two before. There was something terribly wrong. In my gut I knew that this was not just a normal fire, a warehouse or burning brush. Something very bad had happened. I picked up my colleague and we left the airport before chaos set in.
And today, another perfect August day in Madrid, there is a picture in ‘El Pais’ of the interior of one of the huge exhibition halls at the Feria Madrid, very near Barajas. It is one of those very functional buildings, with the framing visible on the interior and the floor an easy to maintain granite or marble – ochre, shiny, cold. It is so enormous that the line of people passing by on the far side occupies just a fraction of the photo. In the foreground are rows of sheet-covered bodies, stretching the length of the hall.
It must be very cold in there. The technicians have turned the air-conditioning to maximum, the living are wearing dark colours, heavy coats.
This is the same place that the bodies were laid out in the wake of the terrorist bombings at the Atocha station, a similar number of victims, a similar feeling of numbness.
This time the deaths are not the result of insane fanaticism but the result is the same. It feels as though lives have been ripped from us out of time. You should die old and surrounded by your loved ones, shouldn’t you?
...the planes still bravely winging fly ...
It was warm and quiet on Wednesday afternoon. Madrid in August is, in my view, at its best. There is no traffic, the boiling July heat has given way to a milder warmth and for those restaurants that are open, no reservations are required. A great place to be.
Still, some people still work and that involves travel; others drive off to holiday homes in the sierras or fly to island retreats.
So, three days ago I drove out to pick up a colleague who was flying in from Switzerland. The traffic was light so that I noticed the ambulance behind me, surely one of the first, earlier than on a busy day and scooted over a lane to let him pass, siren screaming and lights flashing.
On the horizon the black smoke was just starting to boil up. The plane cannot have gone down more than a minute or two before. There was something terribly wrong. In my gut I knew that this was not just a normal fire, a warehouse or burning brush. Something very bad had happened. I picked up my colleague and we left the airport before chaos set in.
And today, another perfect August day in Madrid, there is a picture in ‘El Pais’ of the interior of one of the huge exhibition halls at the Feria Madrid, very near Barajas. It is one of those very functional buildings, with the framing visible on the interior and the floor an easy to maintain granite or marble – ochre, shiny, cold. It is so enormous that the line of people passing by on the far side occupies just a fraction of the photo. In the foreground are rows of sheet-covered bodies, stretching the length of the hall.
It must be very cold in there. The technicians have turned the air-conditioning to maximum, the living are wearing dark colours, heavy coats.
This is the same place that the bodies were laid out in the wake of the terrorist bombings at the Atocha station, a similar number of victims, a similar feeling of numbness.
This time the deaths are not the result of insane fanaticism but the result is the same. It feels as though lives have been ripped from us out of time. You should die old and surrounded by your loved ones, shouldn’t you?
02 March 2008
Welcome Mr. Bud!
2 March 2008
Sunday
Clifton
My nephew has been persuaded to join the world of blogging. It’s a silent sort of place for the most part. I’ve got a few readers but I post irregularly and it’s difficult to pigeonhole me. Mr. Bud (my nephew) will face some of the same problems although I suspect, much to my dismay, that he’s a better or, at least, more with-it writer so he may have a larger audience. If he includes a photo, that’s sure to happen; in fact, I just might cop one of his to use for myself. The age thing can be explained.
He’s just headed back to Holland to continue some sort of libertine semester off thing that he’s organised. Here on Pudding Island he was mostly ill and confined to his bed but managed to stagger out occasionally, belt down a few drinks and bed some likely wench, then stagger back to his bed where he passed the time reading an impressively wide array of literature. And, in this case, I mean it, the guy really does read widely. I was delighted to give him something by Italo Calvino, something by Bruce Chatwin and, for pure fun, something by Bill Bryson. He’ll suck these things up and come out, in just a few days, wanting more. Wow! It is cool to see someone’s reading appetites grow.
Hey, Mr. Bud, for a neat serving of something entirely different, may I suggest Neal Stephenson? I won’t describe it, just go out, buy something by him and enjoy!
Sunday
Clifton
My nephew has been persuaded to join the world of blogging. It’s a silent sort of place for the most part. I’ve got a few readers but I post irregularly and it’s difficult to pigeonhole me. Mr. Bud (my nephew) will face some of the same problems although I suspect, much to my dismay, that he’s a better or, at least, more with-it writer so he may have a larger audience. If he includes a photo, that’s sure to happen; in fact, I just might cop one of his to use for myself. The age thing can be explained.
He’s just headed back to Holland to continue some sort of libertine semester off thing that he’s organised. Here on Pudding Island he was mostly ill and confined to his bed but managed to stagger out occasionally, belt down a few drinks and bed some likely wench, then stagger back to his bed where he passed the time reading an impressively wide array of literature. And, in this case, I mean it, the guy really does read widely. I was delighted to give him something by Italo Calvino, something by Bruce Chatwin and, for pure fun, something by Bill Bryson. He’ll suck these things up and come out, in just a few days, wanting more. Wow! It is cool to see someone’s reading appetites grow.
Hey, Mr. Bud, for a neat serving of something entirely different, may I suggest Neal Stephenson? I won’t describe it, just go out, buy something by him and enjoy!
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