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Showing posts from August, 2010

3 Good Things (Sunday edition)

1.        Objectivist Round Up at EGO ; 2.        Sunday morning bike rides especially when you can smell the hay-scented fern and feel the atmospheric herald of autumn’s arrival; 3.        Dr. Oz’s time-saving advice : “Floss only the teeth you want to keep.”

A Little Modern Art Humor

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Guess the name of this red steel piece  at the deCordova Sculpture Park. No matter how much I dislike modern art, I find that I am always delighted to be in the beautiful outdoor sculpture park at the deCordova Museum in Lincoln.  My youngest and I spent several hours there yesterday, making a brief tour of the new art, revisting our old favorites, talking about what art is, and spending a long time under the trees reading our books.  It was wonderful.

Amor Mundi

by Christina Rossetti, 1865 “Oh where are you going with your love-locks flowing On the west wind blowing along this valley track?” “The downhill path is easy, come with me an it please ye, We shall escape the uphill by never turning back.” So they two went together in glowing August weather, The honey-breathing heather lay to their left and right; And dear she was to dote on, her swift feet seemed to float on The air like soft twin pigeons too sportive to alight. “Oh what is that in heaven where gray cloud-flakes are seven, Where blackest clouds hang riven just at the rainy skirt?” “Oh that’s a meteor sent us, a message dumb, portentous, An undeciphered solemn signal of help or hurt.” “Oh what is that glides quickly where velvet flowers grow thickly, Their scent comes rich and sickly?”—“A scaled and hooded worm.” “Oh what’s that in the hollow, so pale I quake to follow?” “Oh that’s a thin dead body which waits the eternal term.” “Turn again, O my sweetest,—turn a

Park51: Not Just another Watering Hole

The name itself, Park51, conjures a place I’d like to go on a hot summer night and have a few drinks with some of my girlfriends. A place that would have zebra striped bathrobes hanging in the Spa massage rooms. A place where I could laugh and be loud, where I could move my body to the thumping beat of rock music as it flows out into the skies over New York City, and generally revel in life. Sadly, it is not. As a Muslim community center, Park51 would not only prohibit the serving of alcohol, but also the deep v-neck shirts that my large-breasted girlfriends may have chosen to wear out on a hot summer night would no doubt be considered haraam as would my inevitable use of colorful language. But for the thin line still protecting individual rights in this country, some who attend the planned mosque in the center might like to help my gay friends get stoned without benefit of smoking marijuana. Far beyond my disappointment that Park51 is another shrine to mysticism rather than an upsca

3 Good Things (old standards edition)

In Case You Were Wondering

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Support Staff

No doubt, my mother would be pleased to discover that, at this time, I view my role in life as that of support staff .   Despite the fact that she was always the primary bread-winner in our family, has always worked, and taught me implicitly that one’s life is one’s own, she also impressed upon me that if I learned how to type well I would never be without a job.   She is a wise and practical woman.   I learned to type in high school and paid my way through college and grad school (not typing, but still, the point remains a valid one). I suffered no fools, took no prisoners, and enjoyed my independence however briefly. Somewhere in there, I became “ The Mom” and all that such an awesome responsibility entails.   I still, and will forever, wear my virtual “She Who Must Be Obeyed” tongue-in-cheek tiara proudly, but rather than being simply the Keeper of the 3 Ring Binders, I am the bringer of jollity , the external conscience, and the model of adult behavior for my children.   As the la

No Column

Just The Crucible .  Find the Objectivist Round Up in it. Or is it 'at' it? Either way, it's only a click away.  Read. Think. Enjoy.

Rock, Brock, and Isabel

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Although Sheila Bair , as chair of the US FDIC, may have recently taken a Greenspan-like turn for the worse, like Greenspan she produced some good material prior to that turn.    Perhaps her best contributions to the world of economic understanding are contained in two children’s books: Rock, Brock, and the Savings Shock and Isabel’s Car Wa$h . I like both of these books. Through simple story examples, they explain how interest is compounded and how capital investments work, respectively. What it lacks in real interest rates, the Rock and Brock tale makes up for in describing the relative cost of short-term spending vs. savings behavior.   It’s quite similar to One Grain of Rice in illlustrating exponential growth in an understandable way.    But it’s Isabel who is a miniature capitalist hero. She wants to make money to buy something for herself, thinks hard about a way to do it, persuades her friends to invest in her efforts, does all the work – and does good work – and is success

Good Thing

This just made me smile. Canon 7D vs. Barbie Video Girl from Brandon Bloch on Vimeo . (via Qwertz0)

Window Washing

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Upon entering our hotel room last weekend, we were surprised to find that the large, high-definition, flat panel television was not only on, but also displaying a nature scene from a fixed camera. Why it was on, we weren’t sure, but it was pretty and peaceful so we left it on. While I appreciate natural beauty, after an initial inspection and immediate absorption, I don’t find nature scenes all that interesting to look at (picture Chevy Chase's Clark Griswold at the rim of the Grand Canyon), so I went about my unpacking business but did notice the conspicuous quiet of the nature program. To my delighted surprise, there was no eventual voice-over explaining how this was the pristine beach of such-and-such island, and these animals were endangered by man’s activities. Instead, the scene changed to another fixed camera shot of kids shouting and people milling about around an oddly futuristic rectangular video billboard.   I watched this one carefully.   The billboard, in the middle of

August Poetry Recitation

I’m happy to report ( as promised ) that our first official monthly Family Poetry Night was a great success.   In July, each family member chose a poem to recite by heart in a month's time. Due to changing work schedules, last-minute baseball games, and other various summer fun, it ended up being close to five weeks – which was far too long according to the younger members of the family.   Not wanting to put it off any further, we recited them at 10:00 PM on Wednesday. As is my wont, I volunteered to go first (upon getting no other immediate volunteers).   This strategy has the advantage of not only getting it done first, but also of not having the added pressure of someone else being awesome right before you.   Oh yeah.   It’s also good to set an example for the children. That’s the most important part of going first. Two terrific things were obvious to me during the course of the recitation: everyone enjoyed performing his own recitation and was clearly interested in the recitat

Two More Little Things

As I sit listening to old vinyl, reading online articles, husband working nearby (the only reason I would be listening to old vinyl), I was particularly amused by this little thing.   According to a bulleted item in today’s Jewish World Review , on this day in 1877, “ Thomas A. Edison completed his first phonograph. The famed inventor provided John Kreusi with instructions on how to build the machine. Kreusi bet the inventor $2, predicting the machine would never work .” Admittedly, after 133 years, we are transferring the phonograph records onto CDs. Also today, but in 1851, Isaac Singer was granted a patent for his sewing machine. Aaah, but was he really the inventor?   Read more about the sewing machines wars, “patent trolls,” and property rights, here .

A Little Thing

Amy has this week's Objectivist Round Up .

Guns and Butter: the Weekend in Review

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On Friday night, Stephen and I got up close and personal with one of the 100 million offspring of the mind of Mikhail Kalashnikov . With appropriate caution, determination, and earplugs, and despite my best efforts to retain the bragging rights I earned years ago at the ancient Lake Placid biathlon rifle range (5 out of 5 to Stephen’s 4 out of 5), Stephen proved to have a much better shot than I did.   And do you know what he got for his trouble? One big-ass, in-no-way-will-I-allow-recoil shoulder hickey.   But for the temporary loss of bragging rights and a tiny scar from the red-hot .22 brass casing that landed on – and stuck as it sizzled into – my forearm, I remained mostly unscathed by the shooting experience and look forward to improving my aim and recovering my title. Saturday, after abandoning the seemingly hours-long, fruitless search of our 750 cubic foot walk-in sauna, I mean closet, for my Lorelai Gilmore-ish black patent croc leather, rounded-toe, single-buttoned loafer-lo

What’s in a Name?

Apparently we should not have named one of our Rhode Island Reds after Olympic runner Jesse Owens. Lately, she’s been getting in touch with her “maleness”. Much more interesting is lesbian activity between chickens. Not so violent as chicken heterosexuality, lesbianism in chickens results when the dominant hen mates with the attractive underling. We have observed some curious configurations in the field. The dominant chicken might mount "the bitch", (usually the same chicken gets this honor every time), while the other chickens circle quickly around, become rigid and stare intensely at the dominant chicken, acting as supports or balance points so that it will not topple over during "the act" (whatever that is for lesbian chickens...) You too may notice some rather organized lesbian activity in a flock comprised only of hens. This is normal. They're not really hurting each other, though at times it may appear so. Apparently they all find it entertaining. You kno

Brass Tacks

This morning, as I was mulling over what to share about my absolutely incomparable and fabulous weekend and addressing how I must proceed from such a concentrated celebration of couplehood to assure a well-deserved repeat, I was thinking about using the expression, “Get down to brass tacks.” I found the origin of the expression (as reported by phrases.org ) to be even more immediately compelling than my tales of guns and butter.    Meaning Engage with the basic facts or realities. Origin The figurative expression 'getting down to brass tacks' isn't particularly old as phrases go. Its first known appearance, in the USA in 1863, was in the Texas newspaper The Tri-Weekly Telegraph : "When you come down to 'brass tacks' - if we may be allowed the expression - everybody is governed by selfishness." All of the other known early citations either originate in, or refer to, Texas. It is reasonable to assume that the phrase was coined there, in or about the 1860

Go 'n' git it!

The round-up -- at Kelly's Reepicheep's Coracle .

The Hollow That Follows

I am sad. Don’t worry, this isn’t a sorry-state-of-the-world, someone-died kind of real sad.   It’s simply a I-miss-Stars-Hollow kind of sad. It’s the same kind of sad I got when I reached the end of the seventh book of the Harry Potter series:  a t here-they-go – there-ain’t-no-more, empty kind of sad. I think part of the sentimental attraction is warm promise of the opening sequence (2:08 m into episode).   It’s the yellow-orange filter over the snippets of life in Stars Hollow combined with the song, “ Where You Lead ,” Carole King rerecorded with her daughter for the show that gets me. Every single time. But appreciating the quick-tongued quirky characters on Gilmore Girls has always been something my oldest daughter and I have done together.   It was our standing Tuesday night date.   Since the series ended, we’ve re-watched the entire seven-season series during the summer—twice. To us, it’s that good. So with much sniffling and partial face rubbing to hide the tears we feel a

Gone Dark

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The city wide, sprinkled in lights before they all go dim. Heights of pride, I’ll bathe it in, and in its memory, swim. Some place near, an insidious power threatens my celebration, Deepening fear, some horrific hour floods all with devastation. A person weighs, making his bid’ll define the bed on which he lies. Required maze, bureaucrats' diddle control decisions of our lives. Collective sways, standing for little, distinguish not goal from gun, Halcyon days, content to fiddle; extinguish lights one by one. An identification, not oversimplification: We’ve been led into this void. Unprincipled Mess gaming Founder’s Best—purposefully destroyed. We explain, we appeal, we implore, and yet our fight still turns On protecting Rights , or building anew where some such Light still burns. When does it end, this sacrifice of men in the name of those unknown? Forbidden fruits of ken rot on the stem while surrender is over sown. For the common good is the hue and cry for

Behold the Power of Girlfriends

Subject: I may not believe in God, but . . . I do believe in Girlfriend Superpowers! I put the pic of us at the Liberty Hotel onto my phone as my default picture. Last night I was stressing out a little because I had to give a presentation to a class of grad students, and I was nervous .......and then I caught sight of our six smiling faces/martini-holding hands, and I thought to myself: "Girlfriend Superpowers - Activate!" And then I was suddenly very calm and gave a really good presentation. It's nice to know that there's good karma out there in the universe for me to call on when I need it. Your powers work even when you are unaware! So thank you for being my friends..... Anyone who can throw a Super Friends Justice League Wonder Twins reference into a quick and heartfelt email must be my friend. And she is.

Welcome Home, Chum!

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Say hello to our latest addition: Sharkbait-ooh-ha-ha (or as the rest of us call him, Chum).  Chum made his debut as the pet part of the bedroom decor of our 17 year-old today. What a difference a flash makes. For those of you keeping score, Chum joins, rather than replaces, Danny in our betta household.

3 Good Things (two subtle edition)

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Two seconds travel on the Merritt Parkway and the tunnel turns from glowing orange to bewitching green. Two black dots and funky flat-top flowers turn into bikini bottoms. (Sebastiano Ranchetti via Frog Blog ) Two sides meeting in a point rather than a curve and blue-hair punk turns into pensive pixie.