Otnemem
This online journal business has a certain backwards quality to it, in that the standard narrative reads forward, you start at the beginning and end at the end. But if you read these entries in the order in which they appear, they go back.
A little like a wonderful film called Memento. It's a narrative - a mystery, and how - which is told going back in time, with each chapter followed by the preceding chapter. The mystery is compounded by the fact that the protagonist has no medium or long term memory, and by the end of each chapter he has forgot the beginning predicate. But it's not truly backward, it's really a series of loops, because each entry itself has to play forward in time.
Another way to say this is that as far as I know there is no way to duplicate verbally the visual presentation of a movie running backward. Follow to hard too be would it...
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Goody Goody
Meeting a colleague in a few minutes at Goody Goody, one of those institutions that are badges of honor to a particular place and time. It's in a part of St. Louis, Goodfellow and Natural Bridge, that most (white) St. Louisans regard as totally off bounds, part industrial, part ghetto.
It is a clean, amiable restaurant, decades in St. Louis in the same place. Diner food, a little southern, white ownership but mostly African American clientele and staff. Also police and politicians.
I will be having mashed potatoes and gravy, among other things, which ever since my rounds with Mr. C has been a staple. Without putting too dramatic a point on it, I think this is a place where they know about healing and redemption.
I don't think this is patronizing or slumming but I guess that's in the eye of the beholder. I know it's good food, a welcoming place, and a revelation to most of my friends I take there.
This could be the world, damn it.
Meeting a colleague in a few minutes at Goody Goody, one of those institutions that are badges of honor to a particular place and time. It's in a part of St. Louis, Goodfellow and Natural Bridge, that most (white) St. Louisans regard as totally off bounds, part industrial, part ghetto.
It is a clean, amiable restaurant, decades in St. Louis in the same place. Diner food, a little southern, white ownership but mostly African American clientele and staff. Also police and politicians.
I will be having mashed potatoes and gravy, among other things, which ever since my rounds with Mr. C has been a staple. Without putting too dramatic a point on it, I think this is a place where they know about healing and redemption.
I don't think this is patronizing or slumming but I guess that's in the eye of the beholder. I know it's good food, a welcoming place, and a revelation to most of my friends I take there.
This could be the world, damn it.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Homage forte
A quick detour into near-pedantry.
A peeve of mine, pet or no, has been the quasi-educated use of the term "homage" with a French accent. Omazh, with the accent on the second syllable.
It's an English term, feudal origin, from Middle English, probably earlier from Old French, originally meaning the acknowledgement of fealty by a vassal to his lord. It is pronounced with the accent on the first syllable, and a hard "j" sound, not a "zh". With or without a silent "h". It isn't, as far as I can tell, a French word - I have two French dictionaries in the office and "homage" isn't in either one.
Anyway, it's an interesting animal - an English term that looks kind of Frenchy and therefore the semi-literates use a French accent. Unique?
Non. Take forte, which my father always insisted on pronouncing like the thing with a moat around it. He was right. Dad's forte - his strong suit - was, indeed, the English language.
But time and the same predilections have caused the plebes to pronounce it for-tay, accent second syllable. Which makes no sense. It's a noun, for goodness' sake. Why make it sound like it has an accent aigu? (OK, it may not be misplaced French. It may be Italian - the forte you see in music. Where the "e" is, of course pronounced. But I think not. I think it's more wannabe Francophilia.)
Anyway, the sad part is that the dictionaries seem to have folded, and for-tay is now an OK second pronunciation. As will probably happen with omazh. Lordy, can the apocalypse be far behind?
A quick detour into near-pedantry.
A peeve of mine, pet or no, has been the quasi-educated use of the term "homage" with a French accent. Omazh, with the accent on the second syllable.
It's an English term, feudal origin, from Middle English, probably earlier from Old French, originally meaning the acknowledgement of fealty by a vassal to his lord. It is pronounced with the accent on the first syllable, and a hard "j" sound, not a "zh". With or without a silent "h". It isn't, as far as I can tell, a French word - I have two French dictionaries in the office and "homage" isn't in either one.
Anyway, it's an interesting animal - an English term that looks kind of Frenchy and therefore the semi-literates use a French accent. Unique?
Non. Take forte, which my father always insisted on pronouncing like the thing with a moat around it. He was right. Dad's forte - his strong suit - was, indeed, the English language.
But time and the same predilections have caused the plebes to pronounce it for-tay, accent second syllable. Which makes no sense. It's a noun, for goodness' sake. Why make it sound like it has an accent aigu? (OK, it may not be misplaced French. It may be Italian - the forte you see in music. Where the "e" is, of course pronounced. But I think not. I think it's more wannabe Francophilia.)
Anyway, the sad part is that the dictionaries seem to have folded, and for-tay is now an OK second pronunciation. As will probably happen with omazh. Lordy, can the apocalypse be far behind?
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Betrayal
Odd that there seems to be no single noun in English for the betrayed one. "Dupe"? "Victim"? "Sucker"? "Mark"? None of these, necessarily. And unless it's a man and it's about sex, not the nasty-sounding "Cuckold." Nothing that means, solely, the betrayee, which isn't a word.
The perps get, at least, "betrayer" and "traitor". But those on the receiving end appear to have no single, dignified name.
You can be an avenger. You can, I am given to understand, be a forgiver. And you can move on.
*******************************************************************
And so we play on... with abstractions, words that are only the skins of meaning, ellipses, the coding of the emotions below. That play and coding are what this typing - and shit, that really is all it is - is about.
Odd that there seems to be no single noun in English for the betrayed one. "Dupe"? "Victim"? "Sucker"? "Mark"? None of these, necessarily. And unless it's a man and it's about sex, not the nasty-sounding "Cuckold." Nothing that means, solely, the betrayee, which isn't a word.
The perps get, at least, "betrayer" and "traitor". But those on the receiving end appear to have no single, dignified name.
You can be an avenger. You can, I am given to understand, be a forgiver. And you can move on.
*******************************************************************
And so we play on... with abstractions, words that are only the skins of meaning, ellipses, the coding of the emotions below. That play and coding are what this typing - and shit, that really is all it is - is about.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Back to Cahokia Mounds
Driving downtown, every so often, I just blow off the last exit in Missouri and keep going across the river, towards Horseshoe Lake and Cahokia Mounds. The area just beats with history, what for America is old history. A lake made out of one the bends that the Mississippi abandoned ages ago. Humans living in the area for 10,000 years. At the mounds, the site of what was once, long before Columbus, the largest city in North America.
I keep looking for simplicity (and still mistrust it). Here at Monks' Mound, for some reason, I find it and sign on.
Driving downtown, every so often, I just blow off the last exit in Missouri and keep going across the river, towards Horseshoe Lake and Cahokia Mounds. The area just beats with history, what for America is old history. A lake made out of one the bends that the Mississippi abandoned ages ago. Humans living in the area for 10,000 years. At the mounds, the site of what was once, long before Columbus, the largest city in North America.
I keep looking for simplicity (and still mistrust it). Here at Monks' Mound, for some reason, I find it and sign on.
Saturday, May 07, 2011
Hubris-O-Rama
Can't help noting that I wrote this about a year ago, re Afghanistan.
I would focus on how to climb down from this war and make a graceful exit. Just as we can tolerate no new 9/11, we cannot ever be in a position of evacuating our embassy on short notice and leaving supporters behind to be slaughtered, as we did in Saigon in 1975. Avoidance of that should be the objective in Afghanistan.
How? We find a reason to declare Al-Qaeda crushed and declare victory. How that? Well, finally killing Bin Laden or finding his remains would be nice. And if not that, I bet there is something else the Pashtuns and/or the Pakis could serve up if they were offered the right mixture of money and guns (in their hands, at their heads, or both). Whatever it is, we follow it up with a nice parade through Kabul, us and our allies, and we're gone. With visas and a great evacuation plan for our local friends, who I'm sure will make fine Americans.
Not exactly a prediction, but it does seem to kind of resonate today. Killing Bin Laden could make a good pretext for exiting a bad war. Hmm... There is a conspiracy theory in there somewhere.
I heard once about a woman who used to write to her husband who was at the front during WWII. Her predictions were so insightful that the FBI paid her a call to make sure she wasn't a spy. Who knows if true, but I always liked the idea that you could just read the papers, apply your brain, and be a kind of soothsayer.
But you can't predict Black Swans, almost by definition. If the next big thing is a Black Swan all we can hope is to be nimble. And maybe stock some soup and water in the basement,
Can't help noting that I wrote this about a year ago, re Afghanistan.
I would focus on how to climb down from this war and make a graceful exit. Just as we can tolerate no new 9/11, we cannot ever be in a position of evacuating our embassy on short notice and leaving supporters behind to be slaughtered, as we did in Saigon in 1975. Avoidance of that should be the objective in Afghanistan.
How? We find a reason to declare Al-Qaeda crushed and declare victory. How that? Well, finally killing Bin Laden or finding his remains would be nice. And if not that, I bet there is something else the Pashtuns and/or the Pakis could serve up if they were offered the right mixture of money and guns (in their hands, at their heads, or both). Whatever it is, we follow it up with a nice parade through Kabul, us and our allies, and we're gone. With visas and a great evacuation plan for our local friends, who I'm sure will make fine Americans.
Not exactly a prediction, but it does seem to kind of resonate today. Killing Bin Laden could make a good pretext for exiting a bad war. Hmm... There is a conspiracy theory in there somewhere.
I heard once about a woman who used to write to her husband who was at the front during WWII. Her predictions were so insightful that the FBI paid her a call to make sure she wasn't a spy. Who knows if true, but I always liked the idea that you could just read the papers, apply your brain, and be a kind of soothsayer.
But you can't predict Black Swans, almost by definition. If the next big thing is a Black Swan all we can hope is to be nimble. And maybe stock some soup and water in the basement,
Thursday, May 05, 2011
Valerie At Sunset
They come into our lives, these dogs, and become our best friends, and then they leave. They are killed, or they run away, or are stolen, or have to be given away. Or, most painfully, they give their lives to you and then you get to the place where their happy lives are over, and you have to put them down.
Valerie would say it's been well worth it, and when I've recovered I will agree. She and I had many great times together, many times just we two, her treeing a squirrel and me cheering her on, driving for days together every summer, people saying what a great dog at the stops on the highway, exploring parks where neither of us had ever been, me taking the risk of letting her off the lead, she always, always, sooner or later, coming back.
Today's the day she goes and doesn't come back.
She loved and was loved by family and many of our friends. (Other dogs, not so much.) She was dignified and graceful and fine, and when not outside scouting she slept at my feet. When I was home in recovery from cancer she never left my side. She was ours for thirteen Christmases, with her own stocking.
Farewell old girl. Now I can only promise to remember you. I promise.
They come into our lives, these dogs, and become our best friends, and then they leave. They are killed, or they run away, or are stolen, or have to be given away. Or, most painfully, they give their lives to you and then you get to the place where their happy lives are over, and you have to put them down.
Valerie would say it's been well worth it, and when I've recovered I will agree. She and I had many great times together, many times just we two, her treeing a squirrel and me cheering her on, driving for days together every summer, people saying what a great dog at the stops on the highway, exploring parks where neither of us had ever been, me taking the risk of letting her off the lead, she always, always, sooner or later, coming back.
Today's the day she goes and doesn't come back.
She loved and was loved by family and many of our friends. (Other dogs, not so much.) She was dignified and graceful and fine, and when not outside scouting she slept at my feet. When I was home in recovery from cancer she never left my side. She was ours for thirteen Christmases, with her own stocking.
Farewell old girl. Now I can only promise to remember you. I promise.
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
Cairo, Illinois
They have blown levees that protected Mississippi County in Missouri in order to save Cairo, Illinois. The good farmers whose land and homes are being inundated think the proposition is absurd. Let that city go, they say.
Cairo sits at the confluence of the Mississippi and the Ohio. It was once a prosperous place, Grant's first major command headquarters, where Civil War troops were assembled and gunships were built, launched and anchored, and, as shown in a famous incident involving Grant, a center for the telegraph that revolutionized the conduct of war. It was a commercial crossroads, exemplified by the Custom House, built in 1872.
But mostly it's a ruined ghost town now, with or without a flood, fewer than 3000 desperate souls, with a very troubled racial history.
I'm not sure about the trade-off. If saving what's left of Cairo means that there will be a new effort to make it into a place people might actually want to live... well OK, I will listen to that. But if it leaves a lot of still-rotting buildings, instead of letting them wash away - I'd be in favor of the washing away. The river has taken islands, land, even towns before. Maybe we should have given Cairo back.
They have blown levees that protected Mississippi County in Missouri in order to save Cairo, Illinois. The good farmers whose land and homes are being inundated think the proposition is absurd. Let that city go, they say.
Cairo sits at the confluence of the Mississippi and the Ohio. It was once a prosperous place, Grant's first major command headquarters, where Civil War troops were assembled and gunships were built, launched and anchored, and, as shown in a famous incident involving Grant, a center for the telegraph that revolutionized the conduct of war. It was a commercial crossroads, exemplified by the Custom House, built in 1872.
But mostly it's a ruined ghost town now, with or without a flood, fewer than 3000 desperate souls, with a very troubled racial history.
I'm not sure about the trade-off. If saving what's left of Cairo means that there will be a new effort to make it into a place people might actually want to live... well OK, I will listen to that. But if it leaves a lot of still-rotting buildings, instead of letting them wash away - I'd be in favor of the washing away. The river has taken islands, land, even towns before. Maybe we should have given Cairo back.
Bin Laden
Hard to watch this go by and not comment. The reactions here seem to range from celebration, to reproach for celebrating the death of a man, to fear of reprisal.
Me, I think a guy who is responsible for and exults in the slaughter by stealth of 3000 innocent men, women, and children has a special place in the annals of evil. He deserved much worse than he got.
As to the politics, I note my previously-blogged position - that this creates a fine time to declare victory in Afghanistan, assemble and issue green cards to the people who helped us, and bring them and our people home. That point of view is not heard much, and when it is, it's regarded as craven.
I guess it was also craven when Reagan pulled us out of Lebanon after hundreds of Marines were killed in their barracks in 1983. But I bet it saved a lot of American lives, and avoided taking sides in a fight where there wasn't a good side to take.
Hard to watch this go by and not comment. The reactions here seem to range from celebration, to reproach for celebrating the death of a man, to fear of reprisal.
Me, I think a guy who is responsible for and exults in the slaughter by stealth of 3000 innocent men, women, and children has a special place in the annals of evil. He deserved much worse than he got.
As to the politics, I note my previously-blogged position - that this creates a fine time to declare victory in Afghanistan, assemble and issue green cards to the people who helped us, and bring them and our people home. That point of view is not heard much, and when it is, it's regarded as craven.
I guess it was also craven when Reagan pulled us out of Lebanon after hundreds of Marines were killed in their barracks in 1983. But I bet it saved a lot of American lives, and avoided taking sides in a fight where there wasn't a good side to take.
Sunday, May 01, 2011
Lucky Enough To Be Asked
I am lucky. Lucky lucky lucky. And I do like people, and being with them, and seeing those I don't usually see. And I'd be churlish to whine about being asked to dress up and hang out at charity events with eats and drinks in abundance and occasionally a good band.
But whine I must, a little. I just can't help thinking this is another way we are back to the 1930's - think of My Man Godfrey - only these things today are both more politically corrent and more tacky.
It's the auctions, most of all. Fun like a trip to a stockyard. Some earnest husband - or worse, some minor celebrity - trying to extract money from people who are already feeling taken or, way worse, who want to show how prosperous they are. The latest I've seen is handing everyone a little iPhonish unit that allows you to keep bidding from the bar.
OK call me jealous. And cheap. And ungrateful for all the hours that very decent people put into organizing these events, and the good causes they support. Call me all of them, then please call me early for the coffee and a graceful exit.
I am lucky. Lucky lucky lucky. And I do like people, and being with them, and seeing those I don't usually see. And I'd be churlish to whine about being asked to dress up and hang out at charity events with eats and drinks in abundance and occasionally a good band.
But whine I must, a little. I just can't help thinking this is another way we are back to the 1930's - think of My Man Godfrey - only these things today are both more politically corrent and more tacky.
It's the auctions, most of all. Fun like a trip to a stockyard. Some earnest husband - or worse, some minor celebrity - trying to extract money from people who are already feeling taken or, way worse, who want to show how prosperous they are. The latest I've seen is handing everyone a little iPhonish unit that allows you to keep bidding from the bar.
OK call me jealous. And cheap. And ungrateful for all the hours that very decent people put into organizing these events, and the good causes they support. Call me all of them, then please call me early for the coffee and a graceful exit.
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