The Underground withstood the German onslaught, the tunnels deep and sheltered from the bombs. It mattered not that the escalators were made of wood and were a hazard for fire. The Underground helped Londoners win a war by wearing out their adversary. A new adversary, this time, turned the depth and strength of the Underground against the people, leaving no place for the destructive explosion to go but through the railroad cars.
I wasn't able to recite all of the lines from The Second Coming by Yeats, from which the title comes. So, I did a Google search for Slouching toward Bethlehem Yeats. The Google ads on the right side of the page showed several links for treatment of bad posture.
To quote Dave Barry, regarding 7/7, it's best that I leave the reporting to the real journalists. It's probably best for this blog to go back to doing what it does best. Whatever that is.
--
ZDNet is reporting that Google, among other companies, is investing in a company that delivers broadband of Internet access over power lines. I like this concept a lot because, unlike cable and like wireless, it offers the prospect of ubiquitous, networked computing.
Recently, we learned that a one-month supply of a commonly prescribed medicine that costs $C70 in Canada and, with an American HMO, $US15. Uninsured price in both places is about $US160.
In the meantime, a Canadian government panel is recommending that the Canadian government consider restrictions on the distributions of ibuprofen. Basically, they'd like to make sure that doctors and patients discuss the risks related to heart attacks before embarking on a Vitamin I regimen.
They say that it's Psalms 33:12. I say it's Exodus 3:5.
Friday, July 08, 2005
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Wired and wireless
I hadn't been in the Starbuck's in Worcester for several months. They've added electrical outlets. People who were using the wireless Internet access often had to share a single outlet to recharge their laptops.
On this date in 1896, the U.S. annexed Hawaii. Kona coffee, the only coffee grown in this country, is among the best in the world. It has the sweet acidity of the east African coffees (Kenyan, Moka). Adam and Jennie brought some Kona for us. It's often the case that the Kona available on the mainland isn't pure Kona, but Kona-style Kona-blend. The real stuff is expensive and rare. Thanks to A & J.
I am certainlyl not familiar with the many state and federal judges who would be qualified for the Supreme Court. One person came to mind as an interesting prospect - Senator Orrin Hatch, R-Utah. He is quite conservative; there's no doubt about that. But, he's a guy you can talk to. He and Ted Kennedy are buddies. Hatch is sharp and he understands the role of technology in society.
President Nixon nominated Harold Carswell to the Supreme Court. Carswell was a man of, ahem, modest intellect and abilities. Senator Roman Hruska, R-Nebraska, rose to Carswell's defense, declaring that, even if Carswell was mediocre, there were plenty of mediocre people in this country who needed representation.
In addition to these notes, I'm going to resume a journal to record my sleep patterns and what medications, vitamins, exercise, diet, and other goings-on. My sleep has been very irregular. My mood has generally been better during the last couple of weeks.
[The Blogger spellchecker offers 'strabismus' as an alternative to Starbuck's.]
On this date in 1896, the U.S. annexed Hawaii. Kona coffee, the only coffee grown in this country, is among the best in the world. It has the sweet acidity of the east African coffees (Kenyan, Moka). Adam and Jennie brought some Kona for us. It's often the case that the Kona available on the mainland isn't pure Kona, but Kona-style Kona-blend. The real stuff is expensive and rare. Thanks to A & J.
I am certainlyl not familiar with the many state and federal judges who would be qualified for the Supreme Court. One person came to mind as an interesting prospect - Senator Orrin Hatch, R-Utah. He is quite conservative; there's no doubt about that. But, he's a guy you can talk to. He and Ted Kennedy are buddies. Hatch is sharp and he understands the role of technology in society.
President Nixon nominated Harold Carswell to the Supreme Court. Carswell was a man of, ahem, modest intellect and abilities. Senator Roman Hruska, R-Nebraska, rose to Carswell's defense, declaring that, even if Carswell was mediocre, there were plenty of mediocre people in this country who needed representation.
In addition to these notes, I'm going to resume a journal to record my sleep patterns and what medications, vitamins, exercise, diet, and other goings-on. My sleep has been very irregular. My mood has generally been better during the last couple of weeks.
[The Blogger spellchecker offers 'strabismus' as an alternative to Starbuck's.]
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
If you hear bongos behind you, it's too late.
During the night, when there is no moon, the sound of bongo drums echo across Queen Lake. Years ago, the southeast side of the lake was a summer camp for girls from New York. There was a very mean sailing instructor named Herbert. Herbert would steal the kids' lunches, make them sail even when there were thunderstorms on the lake, and censor their letters when they wrote home to complain. Herbert was so mean that he smoked, even in his bunk, because everyone was afraid to tell him that he couldn't.
One weekend, the kids had collected fireworks for a Fourth of July celebration. Herbert found out about it and confiscated all the goods. "There will be no parties around here," he barked. He put all of the fireworks in his footlocker. The rest of the camp on the lake were shooting off their fireworks, but it was quiet at the camp as darkness settled in.
Herbert had one last cigarette, as he usually did, while lying on his bunk. This night, though, he fell asleep and the bed caught fire and then the foot locker. The fireworks exploded. Herbert was on fire. Screaming, he ran to the lake, his skin falling away. As soon as he hit the water, he met up with a great snapping turtle. He pushed the turtle out of its shell and made the shell his new skin.
Thereafter, he lived in the lake and, from time to time, would seek his revenge by capturing a camper and dragging the poor soul back into the dark waters. He would signal that he had caught his prey by reaching back and pounding on his shell, as though he was tapping on bongos.
Some years later, the camp closed and the property divided up for house lots. Still Herbert, now known among the lake residents as Bongo Boy, is restless. Over the weekend, we heard the sound of bongos at a camp across the cove.
Mike is taking Tess and Krista to the camp this evening, along with some friends. I wonder who will get the top bunk.
With apologies to Ira Glass, the Tappett Brothers, and campers everywhere
President Jacques Chirac was reported to have commented: "We can't trust people who have such bad food. After Finland, it's the country with the worst food". And the Finns, gnawing on a piece of reindeer jerky, are wondering why they're being dragged into an international row.
Our lake association meeting is scheduled for Saturday morning at 9AM. Sandra noticed in yesterday's paper that a funeral is scheduled in the church for 10AM. I suspect that we're in for a quick meeting. The biggest issue of past years, a pit bull at one of the camps on the lake, is no longer a problem. The dog is gone. The dog's owners continue to rent the camp. A couple of weeks ago, when we were on the canoe ride with Lily, we saw one of the residents having beer for breakfast while preparing for a day of fishing.
The new Coke Zero tastes like they collected the spray from a skunk that drank a bunch of Moxie.
A local NPR station, WBUR, often uses a Rolling Stones tunes, 2120 South Michigan Avenue, as its exit theme on its Morning Edition show. The address is the home of the old Chess studio in Chicago. We visited the place, which is privately owned now, on a trip to Chicago in the 1980s. The tune was also used as an outtro on WBCN by morning guy Mississippi Harold Wilson, aka Mississippi Fats. He's no longer in radio, instead running a restaurant in Roxbury, the primarily African-American part of Boston.
One weekend, the kids had collected fireworks for a Fourth of July celebration. Herbert found out about it and confiscated all the goods. "There will be no parties around here," he barked. He put all of the fireworks in his footlocker. The rest of the camp on the lake were shooting off their fireworks, but it was quiet at the camp as darkness settled in.
Herbert had one last cigarette, as he usually did, while lying on his bunk. This night, though, he fell asleep and the bed caught fire and then the foot locker. The fireworks exploded. Herbert was on fire. Screaming, he ran to the lake, his skin falling away. As soon as he hit the water, he met up with a great snapping turtle. He pushed the turtle out of its shell and made the shell his new skin.
Thereafter, he lived in the lake and, from time to time, would seek his revenge by capturing a camper and dragging the poor soul back into the dark waters. He would signal that he had caught his prey by reaching back and pounding on his shell, as though he was tapping on bongos.
Some years later, the camp closed and the property divided up for house lots. Still Herbert, now known among the lake residents as Bongo Boy, is restless. Over the weekend, we heard the sound of bongos at a camp across the cove.
Mike is taking Tess and Krista to the camp this evening, along with some friends. I wonder who will get the top bunk.
With apologies to Ira Glass, the Tappett Brothers, and campers everywhere
President Jacques Chirac was reported to have commented: "We can't trust people who have such bad food. After Finland, it's the country with the worst food". And the Finns, gnawing on a piece of reindeer jerky, are wondering why they're being dragged into an international row.
Our lake association meeting is scheduled for Saturday morning at 9AM. Sandra noticed in yesterday's paper that a funeral is scheduled in the church for 10AM. I suspect that we're in for a quick meeting. The biggest issue of past years, a pit bull at one of the camps on the lake, is no longer a problem. The dog is gone. The dog's owners continue to rent the camp. A couple of weeks ago, when we were on the canoe ride with Lily, we saw one of the residents having beer for breakfast while preparing for a day of fishing.
The new Coke Zero tastes like they collected the spray from a skunk that drank a bunch of Moxie.
A local NPR station, WBUR, often uses a Rolling Stones tunes, 2120 South Michigan Avenue, as its exit theme on its Morning Edition show. The address is the home of the old Chess studio in Chicago. We visited the place, which is privately owned now, on a trip to Chicago in the 1980s. The tune was also used as an outtro on WBCN by morning guy Mississippi Harold Wilson, aka Mississippi Fats. He's no longer in radio, instead running a restaurant in Roxbury, the primarily African-American part of Boston.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Palms of victory
The centerpiece of a truly delightful weekend was our trip to Tanglewood in the Berkshires to see a live performance of Prairie Home Companion. We saw nearly all of it. (More on that in a moment.)
The Shed at Tanglewood, open on three sides, can seat more than 5,000. An equal number can sit on the lawn and listen to the show on a fine sound system. We had tickets for seats in the shed.
Moving 10,000 people in an out of a town is a considerable task. The Lenox police, assisted by the Berkshire County sheriff's Department, did a spectacularly bad job managing the traffic flow to the Tanglewood site. Granted, the route to Tanglewood takes you along some narrow roads and through the village of Lenox, but the volume of traffic is well known. They've been hosting such events, several times a week, for 65 years. The ride from the camp to the Lee exit on the Pike took just about two and a half hours, including a stop at Whole Foods in Hadley to pick up our dinner. It took us a bit more than an hour to complete the remaining seven miles, from Lee to Tanglewood. We had our tasty dinner of Thai slaw, French bread, potato salad, and coconut chicken in the car. I thought that three-and-a-half hours would be plenty of time to get us there. I was mistaken. We arrived about 10 minutes late, but, fortunately, had aisle seats.
Garrison had recently relearned a brief hymn from an aunt. He taught the hymn to us and which we reprised throughout the show:
The song, Palms of Victory, is a old tune. Bob Dylan used something similar in an outtake on the Times They Are A-Changin' album, Paths of Victory.
Why do right-handed people finger stringed instruments with their left hands?
There's a running joke in the MacGregor family. When Woody would go to a Red Sox game, he'd invariably leave at the 7th inning stretch and listen to the rest of the game on the radio on the way home. Often, they'd miss some dramatic comebacks. People were leaving right after the News from Lake Wobegon to get a jump on traffic. We hung around the grounds and heard a full half hour of encore music. One of my favorite performers, a regular on the show, is Prudence Johnson. She has such a clear, sweet voice. She doesn't record much, but brings a wealth of musical experience and expression to the show. She was featured during the encores. I bought a couple of Gillian Welch CDs in the gift shop.
We've attended three PHC shows and this was, IMO, the best. The music was first rate, the writing crisp. And, he read our card. I brought greetings for Huck from three of us and handed the card to Garrison at the stage.
So Prairie Home Companion has become the Lawrence Welk show for the Boomers. There were some people under 40 there, on their own, but not many. We sat next to a teenager, attending the show with her parents. She exuded the excruciating boredom that only teenagers can produce. Her parents tried to buy her things, but she would have preferred an evening at the orthodontist office. Our parents watch reruns of Lawrence Welk every chance they get. It wouldn't surprise me that standard issue for nursing homes in 2015 will be a can of Ensure, a pair of no-slip slippers, and a Garrison Keillor musical implant.
Getting out of town wasn't much better. The folks at the Department of Homeland Security should study the behavior of exiting crowds if we can ever hope to have orderly evacuations in the case of disasters of any magnitude. We had to walk along the side of the road to get to our parking area in the field. A woman honked at Sandra so that she could hurry along and wait in the line ahead.
We saw fireworks in various towns on the ride home, including private fireworks on the Connecticut River.
But we got back to the camp safely. The sky was clear, the lake was calm, and you could see the constellations reflected on the smooth water. A couple of years ago, Sandra and I took a course on astronomy, learning enough to pick out some basic features of the northern sky. We're pretty small, but we're where we belong.
The weekend weather was as perfect as you could get, warm when it was supposed to be, cool where it was supposed to be. We did experience a bit of news withdrawal. The world we'd left behind had a Supreme Court justice resignation, continued war in Iraq, the Live 8 concerts, G-8 meetings, continued famines and strife in Africa, and the missing-white-girl-of-the-week story. Naturally, then, channel 5, the best of the lot in Boston TV, had a story about a horse that was frightened by fireworks and ran away. But it came back.
That night, Sunday, we heard the eerie sounds of Bongo Boy out on the lake. More about him in another note.
Sandra will drive Phyllis to the airport shuttle station in Framingham and we will all make our way to our respective places this morning.
Good luck on your new job, Jennie.
The Shed at Tanglewood, open on three sides, can seat more than 5,000. An equal number can sit on the lawn and listen to the show on a fine sound system. We had tickets for seats in the shed.
Moving 10,000 people in an out of a town is a considerable task. The Lenox police, assisted by the Berkshire County sheriff's Department, did a spectacularly bad job managing the traffic flow to the Tanglewood site. Granted, the route to Tanglewood takes you along some narrow roads and through the village of Lenox, but the volume of traffic is well known. They've been hosting such events, several times a week, for 65 years. The ride from the camp to the Lee exit on the Pike took just about two and a half hours, including a stop at Whole Foods in Hadley to pick up our dinner. It took us a bit more than an hour to complete the remaining seven miles, from Lee to Tanglewood. We had our tasty dinner of Thai slaw, French bread, potato salad, and coconut chicken in the car. I thought that three-and-a-half hours would be plenty of time to get us there. I was mistaken. We arrived about 10 minutes late, but, fortunately, had aisle seats.
Garrison had recently relearned a brief hymn from an aunt. He taught the hymn to us and which we reprised throughout the show:
Palms of victoryHe taught it in four parts. Peter Schickle led the bases and I found myself singing along. It fit nicely in my three-quarter octave range. I also sang the National Anthem, but spared everyone my attempts at the high notes.
Crowns of glory
Palms of victory
We shall wear [emended @ 10:20AM]
The song, Palms of Victory, is a old tune. Bob Dylan used something similar in an outtake on the Times They Are A-Changin' album, Paths of Victory.
Why do right-handed people finger stringed instruments with their left hands?
There's a running joke in the MacGregor family. When Woody would go to a Red Sox game, he'd invariably leave at the 7th inning stretch and listen to the rest of the game on the radio on the way home. Often, they'd miss some dramatic comebacks. People were leaving right after the News from Lake Wobegon to get a jump on traffic. We hung around the grounds and heard a full half hour of encore music. One of my favorite performers, a regular on the show, is Prudence Johnson. She has such a clear, sweet voice. She doesn't record much, but brings a wealth of musical experience and expression to the show. She was featured during the encores. I bought a couple of Gillian Welch CDs in the gift shop.
We've attended three PHC shows and this was, IMO, the best. The music was first rate, the writing crisp. And, he read our card. I brought greetings for Huck from three of us and handed the card to Garrison at the stage.
So Prairie Home Companion has become the Lawrence Welk show for the Boomers. There were some people under 40 there, on their own, but not many. We sat next to a teenager, attending the show with her parents. She exuded the excruciating boredom that only teenagers can produce. Her parents tried to buy her things, but she would have preferred an evening at the orthodontist office. Our parents watch reruns of Lawrence Welk every chance they get. It wouldn't surprise me that standard issue for nursing homes in 2015 will be a can of Ensure, a pair of no-slip slippers, and a Garrison Keillor musical implant.
Getting out of town wasn't much better. The folks at the Department of Homeland Security should study the behavior of exiting crowds if we can ever hope to have orderly evacuations in the case of disasters of any magnitude. We had to walk along the side of the road to get to our parking area in the field. A woman honked at Sandra so that she could hurry along and wait in the line ahead.
We saw fireworks in various towns on the ride home, including private fireworks on the Connecticut River.
But we got back to the camp safely. The sky was clear, the lake was calm, and you could see the constellations reflected on the smooth water. A couple of years ago, Sandra and I took a course on astronomy, learning enough to pick out some basic features of the northern sky. We're pretty small, but we're where we belong.
The weekend weather was as perfect as you could get, warm when it was supposed to be, cool where it was supposed to be. We did experience a bit of news withdrawal. The world we'd left behind had a Supreme Court justice resignation, continued war in Iraq, the Live 8 concerts, G-8 meetings, continued famines and strife in Africa, and the missing-white-girl-of-the-week story. Naturally, then, channel 5, the best of the lot in Boston TV, had a story about a horse that was frightened by fireworks and ran away. But it came back.
That night, Sunday, we heard the eerie sounds of Bongo Boy out on the lake. More about him in another note.
Sandra will drive Phyllis to the airport shuttle station in Framingham and we will all make our way to our respective places this morning.
Good luck on your new job, Jennie.
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