NTodd Has A Blog?

They Are a Breed Apart and Make No Sense

Wow, 30 years since Last of the Mohicans was released.

It's quite possible that I've seen this thing almost as many times as Raiders and Casablanca and Star Wars.  Definitely a comfort watch, and a lot of emotional resonance with me for myriad reasons.

I've actually hiked the area where a lot of it was filmed, back in '94 when I was down in NC for my grandparents' 50th anniversary celebration (made it to 59 before pancreatic cancer took Grandaddy).  Now there's another mindblowing number.  My two marriages put together don't even come close; hell, the sum total of all my relationships never will at this point.  LOL.

Sick of prey, yet howling on for more

Time:

Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years,

Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe

Are brackish with the salt of human tears!

Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow

Claspest the limits of mortality!

Percy Bysshe Shelley.

one nacho, underpants

RMJ has a nice post about politics, the decline of "church", etc:

[S]eparation of church and state has always been a moving target and an ideal more honored in the breach than in the keeping.  Children prayed in school (a Christian prayer, whether you were Christian or not) and the people who didn't like it (atheists, Seventh-Day Adventists, etc.) were just SOL.  Then the Supreme Court declared the "wall" between church and state, and people were quite upset.  Until they weren't.  Same thing happened with gay marriage.  Remember the clerk who refused to do her ministerial duty on religious grounds?  I dunno, maybe after Hobby Lobby she has a case (though the Supremes still seem to distinguish between government employees and private employees), but aside from Clarence Thomas (who probably tipped his hand too early), who cares anymore?  Honestly, if the Supremes even hint at taking up a case that could overturn Obergefell, I expect Biden would lead the charge to add 3, maybe 4, more Justices instanter.

 

"Under God" was added to the Pledge of Allegiance because godless Commies couldn't make that pledge.  Apparently it would make their tongues burst into flame, or something.  "In God We Trust" was put on the coinage to remind the godless commies Gott Mit Us; or something.  We open public meetings with Christian (rarely Hindu, Muslim, or Native American, to name a few) prayers.  I'm pretty sure those are all 20th century, and mostly post-WWII/Red Scare era, developments.

I'm going to springboard off his obiter dictum at the end there.  For several years I went to private school in Toledo (how I ended up there is a longer story about a hyperactive kid and a bad teacher); we never said the Pledge, so it was quite a culture shock when I was re-injected into Perryburg's public school system. 

I'll never forget the week Poland declared martial law (December '81, for those of you not yet born) when Mrs B, my 7th grade homeroom teacher, scolded us for groaning about having to do rote patriotic bullshit on Friday mornings.  It was a ritualistic equivalent of the old "kids starving in China" routine.  Eyes were never harder rolled.

Fast forward to my time as a Selectman in Vermont.  Every Town Meeting began with folks standing to face the flag, hand over heart, saying the Holy Words.  My final year on the Board before we left for the PNW, I shared a great chuckle with our Chair as we noticed each going other silent for the "under G-D" part (something that I'd done since I was a recalcitrant teen).

Because, of course, it's a free country.

Speaking of Favorite Canadian Musicians

Let's give it up for the late, lamented Neil Peart, whose 70th birthday I failed to note earlier this month.

On a related note, I've worked with a number of training cohorts ostensibly based in YYZ (but time and space has no real meaning since the Dawn of Covid).  Naturally, that means I can't not think of this song whenever I interact with them.

198 More Sundays: Surrender, Dorothy!

Quick little one today.  Method #12: Skywriting and earthwriting.  Under the subcategory of Communications with a wider audience, often this expresses a serious message, but also:

A group of Democratic activists in Miami paid $1,800 to fly that banner [pictured] over the Trump retreat where a handful of the former president's supporters were then demonstrating.

"This is how you treat wannabe authoritarians like Trump," tweeted Thomas Kennedy, who masterminded the stunt. "You ridicule and mock them."

We don't normally think of airplane banners as media. But this message — delighting Trump haters, and infuriating supporters — hit home.

For three reasons. One, it was short.

Two, it was flown over Trump's airspace, implicitly — though not illegally — violating his private fiefdom.

Three, it was spiteful, childish, mean-spirited. Almost like the kind of thing that the former president would do himself.

"It brought me a lot of joy," Kennedy told NBC 6 in Florida. "I would do it again."

All dictators are self-absorbed, petty little snowflakes who furiously attempt to project power and perfection, and rely on people to never acknowledge the proverbial Emperor has no clothes.  Acti0ns that disrupt the illusion might not be the pebble that starts an avalanche, but make for a good psyop all the same; it doesn't take much to cause a narcissist to start decompensating.

Plus, it's just fun.

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Hum a Few Bars

Pleasant morning listening to my favorite Canadian pianist, born 90 years ago today.

I know some folks don't appreciate Gould's humming along whilst playing.  That eccentricity for me is part of his charm.  Just a quirky little guy who happens to be good at making the keys produce lovely music.

Reminds me of an old joke whose butt I often have been.

Person 1: <singing along with radio>
Person 2: Hey, whose song is this?
Person 1: Oh, it's [artist/group].
Person 2: Why don't you let them sing it?

Harhar, asshole.  I like singing, wish I could still play piano or trombone with just a smidge of my long lost skill, and hell if you're going to tamp down my joy of letting it all hang out.

A Slice of Vermont in the Puget Sound

A long, long time ago, I started a silly little photo project back in Vermont called Intersection, inspired by the movie Smoke. 

Because the old saw, "if you don't like the weather, wait a minute," applies to Vashon as much as it did Back East, this week I decided to try capturing a little of the variation of the scene from my breezeway (been working a lot here with the heat and smoke having mostly moved on).

Monday, 9/19 - morning.

Monday, 9/19 - midday.

Monday, 9/19 - evening.

Wednesday, 9/21 - midday.

Wednesday, 9/21 - afternoon.

Wednesday, 9/21 - evening.

Friday, 9/23 - midday.

Friday, 9/23 - evening.

Yeah, I'm getting really back into my JJ Abrams-esque lens flare shenanigans.  Haven't had as much cloud cover this week as I'd expected, which is the best for shooting foliage.

While the S21+ has twice the resolution as my last DSLR, and offers a variety of "pro" mode features that make it a decent capture device, I still would like to get a camera camera again someday.  Anyway, just an excuse to get out of Instagram's format like in the olden days.

Lift that noble banner high

Shake down the thunder from the sky...

Great season, lads!  Great opponent, too.  I was hoping for a similar result to Week 2, but what a genuine surprise being in the Grand Final at all.  Congratulations to Geelong on a well-fought match.

Battle of Flamborough Head

Dedicated to Steve Bannon.

Bloods! At the 'G.

No Swan so Fine, by Marianne Moore:

“No water so still as the
  dead fountains of Versailles.” No swan,
with swart blind look askance
and gondoliering legs, so fine
  as the chintz china one with fawn-
brown eyes and toothed gold
collar on to show whose bird it was. 

First bounce for Sydney and Geelong at the Melbourne Cricket Ground in just a little over 2 hours!

Ah wanna tell ya 'bout a girl

I think this is about Arwen Undómiel.

Now Playing at Bag-End, 1 Bagshot Row, Hobbiton, Westfarthing, the Shire

Bilbo Baggins:

The Road goes ever on and on,
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

Dare I watch the '77 Hobbit?

The Scouring of My Heart

It's a lovely autumn evening, leaves starting to pop, soft wind helping wildfire smoke clear out a bit.  As I sit in the breezeway of my cozy hobbit house, my heart is a little heavy as I think about my friend David, now a year gone. 

As Eddie says in Breathe:

Yes I understand
That every life must end
As we sit alone
I know someday we must go

Regardless, I would very much like to speak with him again.

Selah.

Happy Temporary Birthday, USPS!

[The Post Office] is perhaps the only mercantile project which has been successfully managed by, I believe, every sort of government. 

 - Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations (Book V, Ch 2)

My beloved Post Office has been around since before we had even declared independence - with Ben Franklin made the first Postmaster General - showing just how important communication in general and the postal service in particular is to a nation.  The Articles Congress passed An Ordinance for Regulating the Post-Office of the United States of America in 1782. 

Once our Federal Congress ramped up under a new Constitution in 1789, the House wanted to continue the existing regime: 

[U]ntil further provision be made by law, the General Post Office of the United States shall be conducted according to the rules and regulations prescribed: by the ordinances and resolutions of the late Congress, and that contracts be made for the conveyance of the mail in conformity thereto...

But the Senate had other ideas, and on September 11:

Mr. Butler, in behalf of the committee appointed on the tenth of September, on the resolve of the House of Representatives, providing for the regulation of the post office*, reported, not to concur in the resolve, and a bill upon the subject matter thereof;

And, on the question of concurrence in the resolve of the House of Representatives:

It passed in the negative.

Ordered, That the bill, entitled "An act for the temporary establishment of the post office," have the first reading at this time.

It's not apparent from the record how much, if any, debate there was on the bill.  It zipped through the Senate, and was passed even more rapidly by the House.  The act was extremely brief and its operation was limited through the next session; it had to be renewed the following August, and again in March after that (when service was also extended to Bennington in the new state of Vermont!).

Regardless, today marks when the United States of America, in order to form a more perfect union, borrowed yet again from the imperfect Articles Congress and (re)created the position of Postmaster General.  Congrats to Samuel Osgood, to whom the honor was bestowed a few days later.

As I've noted before, all these temporary authorizations finally gave way to a more permanent arrangement on February 20, 1792.  I guess the USPS is lucky to have so many birthdays.

Speaking of which, even our friends in the Shire had a postal system.  Got a little bogged down at one point, what with Bilbo's 111th birthday party being such a big affair:

Before long the invitations began pouring out, and the Hobbiton post-office was blocked, and the Bywater post-office was snowed under, and voluntary assistant postmen were called for. There was a constant stream of them going up the Hill, carrying hundreds of polite variations on Thank you, I shall certainly come.

We've had some capacity and other issues here on our Shire-like island as well, which hasn't gone unnoticed by local celebrities.  To Louis DeJoy, I can only say: îsh kakhfê ai-‘d-dûr-rugnul!

 

* The LoC transcript says "post of flee", which clearly is an OCR error.

#throwbackthursday

Then: almost-2yo obsessed with Yi-ying and Me-mo (Lightning McQueen and Mater).  Now: boy turning 13 next Thursday obsessed with War of the Worlds (OG book, 1950s & Spielberg/Cruise movies, not Welles' radio play).

Happy Hobbit Day to Those Who Celebrate

And many happy returns, Bilbo and Frodo:

[I]n honour of Frodo Yavannië 30, which corresponded with former September 22, his birthday, was made a festival, and the leap-year was provided for by doubling this feast, called Cormare or Ringday.
...

There is no record of the Shire-folk commemorating either March 25 or September 22; but in the Westfarthing, especially in the country round Hobbiton Hill, there grew up a custom of making holiday and dancing in the Party Field, when weather permitted, on April 6. Some said that it was old Sam Gardner's birthday, some that it was the day on which the Golden Tree first flowered in 1420, and some that it was the Elves' New Year. In the Buckland the Horn of the Mark was blown at sundown every November 2 and bonfires and feastings followed.

Say what you will about Hobbits, they sure knew how to party.

See who defends you when you're down again

Don't count on money-spinners then.

It Is So Easily Lost

Trust:

It’s like so many other things in life   

to which you must say no or yes.                                    

So you take your car to the new mechanic.   

Sometimes the best thing to do is trust.   

 

The package left with the disreputable-looking   

clerk, the check gulped by the night deposit,   

the envelope passed by dozens of strangers—   

all show up at their intended destinations.   

 

The theft that could have happened doesn’t.   

Wind finally gets where it was going   

through the snowy trees, and the river, even               

when frozen, arrives at the right place.                        

 

And sometimes you sense how faithfully your life   

is delivered, even though you can’t read the address.

Thomas R Smith.

"Whom can we trust now?"

Take a gander at what was happening on September 21, 1780:

They landed at the foot of a great hill, called Long Clove Mountain, on the western shore of the Hudson, about two miles below Haverstraw. This place had been designated by Arnold for the meeting, and thither he had repaired from Smith's house. 

Arnold was concealed in the thick bushes, and to the same place Smith conducted Andrè. They were left alone, and for the first time the conspirators heard each other's voice; for the first time Arnold's lips uttered audibly the words of treason. There, in the gloom of night, concealed from all human cognizance, they discussed their dark plans, and plotted the utter ruin of the patriot cause.
...

During that morning the whole plot was arranged, and the day for its consummation fixed. Andrè was to return to New York, and the British troops, already embarked under the pretext of an expedition to the Chesapeake, were to be ready to ascend the river at a moment's warning. 

Arnold was to weaken the various posts at West Point by dispersing the garrison. When the British should appear, he was to send out detachments among the mountain gorges, under pretense of meeting the enemy, as they approached, at a distance from the works.

[A] link from the great chain at Constitution Island was to be removed. The river would be left free for the passage of vessels, and the garrison, so scattered, could not act in force; thus the enemy could take possession with very little resistance.

All the plans being arranged, Arnold supplied Andrè with papers explanatory of the military condition of West Point and its dependencies. These he requested him to place between his stockings and feet, and in the event of accident, to destroy them.

So now here we are in the Year of our Lord 2022 with Benedict Trump's villainous perfidy perhaps, one hopes, finally unraveling as Arnold's did. 

As I Lie Both Awake and Asleep

Oscar Williams:

As I lie both awake and asleep
On the floor at the top of the years,
The momentous steps of that not coming
Are like distant thunders on my ears -

Like footsteps approaching, like thunders,
Like statues falling on rubber,
The eardrum of the brain palpitates
To the dreadful tread of arrears.

The stairways hidden in the walls
Prepare to receive the blows,
The sound of that never coming
Puffs like a storm at the ears.

I hear a punishing body,
The aggregate thud in the halls,
Like a ganging up of one's sins
That have worn harmless faces for years - 

Like blows on a sensitive framework
In the other rooms of have been,
Tomorrow falls on its thundery paws - 
For I lie in the grip of my fears.

August, 1942.

In the Heart of the Night She Smiles Like Mardi Gras

Speaking of smiles and 1982.

PS - I must also remark that this is the 41st anniversary of the Concert in Central Park.  Hello, Darkness, my old friend...

: - )

I wish to amend my previous assertion.  THIS is the best thing to come out of 1982:

By the early 1980’s, the Computer Science community at Carnegie Mellon was making heavy use of online bulletin boards or “bboards”...Even in those days, extended “flame wars” were common.

Given the nature of the community, a good many of the posts were humorous (or attempted humor). The problem was that if someone made a sarcastic remark, a few readers would fail to get the joke, and each of them would post a lengthy diatribe in response. That would stir up more people with more responses, and soon the original thread of the discussion was buried. In at least one case, a humorous remark was interpreted by someone as a serious safety warning.

This problem caused some of us to suggest (only half seriously) that maybe it would be a good idea to explicitly mark posts that were not to be taken seriously. After all, when using text-based online communication, we lack the body language or tone-of-voice cues that convey this information when we talk in person or on the phone.

Various “joke markers” were suggested, and in the midst of that discussion it occurred to me that the character sequence :-) would be an elegant solution – one that could be handled by the ASCII-based computer terminals of the day. So I suggested that. In the same post, I also suggested the use of :-( to indicate that a message was meant to be taken seriously, though that symbol quickly evolved into a marker for displeasure, frustration, or anger.

This convention caught on quickly around Carnegie Mellon, and soon spread to other universities and research labs via the primitive computer networks of the day.

This was a bit before my time on the quasi-Internet, which I didn't use until I got to college in '87.  But yeah, facility like BITNET was so primitive, it would make Spock(o) whine about stone knives and bearskins.

For example, to email a buddy at Dartmouth, I had to include all the gateways needed to route the message in the address thusly: mailbox%domain0%domain1@domain2.  Crazy times, man, and the kids today just don't appreciate what they've got.  :-(

Sirius rises late in the dark, liquid sky

I cannot, in fact, read your mind.

It Is Unbearably Painful for the Soul to Love Silently

Switching Russian poetry gears to Anna Akhmatova:

On his hand are many shiny rings —
from tender hearted and submissive girls.
The diamond triumphs, and the opal
Dreams, the ruby glows like a miracle.
On his fingers there is no ring of mine.
Nor will I ever give my ring to anyone.

Her first published poem, in the second issue (there were only three) of future husband Nikolay Gumilyov's literary magazine, Sirius, in 1907.

Speaking of Pugacheva...

A little follow up from my previous post, which is to be expected given my love of (Russian) language and music.  The subtitle comes from a favorite poem by Marina Tsvetaeva.  It begins:

Мне нравится, что Вы больны не мной,
Мне нравится, что я больна не Вами,
Что никогда тяжёлый шар земной
Не уплывёт под нашими ногами.

That first line immediately came to mind when thinking of Pugacheva because she famously performed this as song in the mid-70s.  Give a listen, and you'll get a great example of typical Russian acoustic guitar in addition to her deep emoting. 

Hearing stuff like this always reminds me of a train ride back in '90.  We were coming back from a 2-week break in quasi-independent Lithuania during the Moratorium, and a few friends and I ended up sharing a berth with a couple of Belarusian army guys, which was quite a trip.

We chatted a lot about geo-politics while one soldier kept unsnapping and re-snapping his sidearm holster, unnerving us a little.  But then he borrowed my buddy's guitar, and started playing in the same style as that Pugacheva clip, singing with the same almost taciturn cadence.  That made us all relax for what ended up being a very pleasant journey.

Anyway, the word больной literally means sick, so one could translate that opening verse as, "I like that you are not sick of me." As an aside, one of my favorite Russian phrases is mне нравится, essentially "it's pleasing to me" (dative case, the liker is the object, and the likee becomes the subject).  Quite passive, in very Russian fashion, as opposed to actively loving as expressed by я люблю.

More poetically, больной carries a sense in this context of being love/heart sick, in lust, passionate about, infatuated with, mad for.  So Tsvetaeva really is kicking things off with, "I like that you're not super into me."  She also is not super into the object of her poem - she thus can be relaxed and silly and not feel like she has to be charming and fake like doe-eyed, would-be lovers might.

One can certainly be carried away by feelings of love, as I recall.  And even here, it is pleasing to me that the poem kinda turns that on end.  The last line in the above excerpt invokes уплывет, meaning to float/swim/sail away.  But it's our heavy globe that is (not) doing the moving, as opposed to people.

Here our pair - if they weren't so grounded - would have the very foundations of the Earth cut out from under their feet, but fortunately that won't happen!  Fits with the overall theme negating any sense of obsession with each other.

If they were deeply in love, Earth would be inconstant, which is kinda scary like a gut-dropping roller coaster ride.  Yet these two aren't burdened by pining for each other, and instead can remain true to themselves as constant, honest friends. 

At least that's how I interpret it, although I'm generally not very good at reading poetry or people.

198 More Sundays: I like the fact that I’m not mad for you

Picking up again after a break on 9/11, the news delivers us Method #120: Withholding or withdrawal of allegiance:

A refusal to recognize a regime as legally or morally deserving allegiance.

It's a deceptively simple act when all the State's power can be brought swiftly and harshly to bear against any non-conformity.  It can be amplified when those doing the refusing are popular or powerful, such as when Queen Wilhelmina and the Dutch royal family refused Nazi protection.  Or when a Russian singer gives Putin the finger: 

One of Russia's most popular singers, Alla Pugacheva, has called on the Russian authorities to declare her a "foreign agent", in solidarity with her strongly anti-war husband Maxim Galkin.

A showbiz star too, he was labelled a "foreign agent" on Friday after condemning Russia's attack on Ukraine.

On social media Pugacheva called her husband "a true incorruptible Russian patriot, who wants... an end to our lads dying for illusory aims".

Now, it's true that Pugavheva doesn't do live performances these days, but Russians love their folk singers and she's been a fixture from the 70s well into the 21st century.  Maybe her act of conscience doesn't carry as much weight as it might have once, so Putin can ignore it.  It could, however, create space for other artists and celebrities to also offer resistance to the official war narrative and erode support for the regime as their aggression continues to blow back on them.

 

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45 Years and 14 Billion Miles Ago

NASA: This picture of a crescent-shaped Earth and Moon -- the first of its kind ever taken by a spacecraft -- was recorded Sept. 18, 1977, by NASA's Voyager 1 when it was 7.25 million miles (11.66 million kilometers) from Earth [Current mission status].

Happy Constitution Day To Those Who Celebrate

This one is dedicated to Judge Loose Cannon (and others like her who get supply from wrecking things).

Sportsball

Not that there was any doubt: Ohio State did stomp on UT (77-21), although they let the Rockets score more than I expected.  However, Bowling Green handled Marshall in OT (34-31), which was super surprising to me.

Right now I don't care so much about the college gridiron, though.  I'm tuned into baseball, with my OG Guardians having a decent shot at hanging on to win the Central, and my adopted Mariners firmly ensconced in the wild cards.

Even more importantly, Sadie and I are very happy that our Sydney Swans are playing next week in their first Grand Final since 2016.  Last night's Prelim against Collingwood was an absolute squeaker, and I don't hold out much hope that they'll topple Geelong, but it's great that they're getting back to form.

I suck at sports (so do my teams, often).  Still, I love to play, and really enjoy watching awesome athletic performances.

Now I'm feeling like I need to take the kids bowling again soon.

 

Il n'y a que moi qui a toujours raison

Ben Franklin on the last day of our Constitutional Convention, September 17, 1787:

I confess that there are several parts of this constitution which I do not at present approve, but I am not sure I shall never approve them: For having lived long, I have experienced many instances of being obliged by better information, or fuller consideration, to change opinions even on important subjects, which I once thought right, but found to be otherwise. It is therefore that the older I grow, the more apt I am to doubt my own judgment, and to pay more respect to the judgment of others.
...

In these sentiments, Sir, I agree to this Constitution with all its faults, if they are such; because I think a general Government necessary for us, and there is no form of Government but what may be a blessing to the people if well administered, and believe farther that this is likely to be well administered for a course of years, and can only end in Despotism, as other forms have done before it, when the people shall become so corrupted as to need despotic Government, being incapable of any other.

James Madison in Federalist #51, the following year:

In order to lay a due foundation for that separate and distinct exercise of the different powers of government, which to a certain extent, is admitted on all hands to be essential to the preservation of liberty, it is evident that each department should have a will of its own; and consequently should be so constituted, that the members of each should have as little agency as possible in the appointment of the members of the others. 

Mark Zaid on Twitter, yesterday:

I have been litigating against USG for 30 years regarding classified records. Before DEM & GOP appointed Judges. I have never seen a federal judge disregard Executive Branch classification concerns to such an extent as Judge Cannon did tonight.

(via RMJ)

Judge Loose Cannon is the apotheosis of Trumpist despotism and the antithesis of republicanism (in the first, truest sense of the word).

Selah.

The mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be lighted.

I grew up in a suburb of Toledo, Ohio, and most of my school chums ended up going to UT, or BGSU, or OSU (I couldn't wait to get out of Flatland).  Today, I am certain that the Toledo Rockets are going to get completely stomped by the Ohio State Buckeyes in Columbus (the Falcons will likely lose to the Herd). 

Because it's what I do, I googled UT just to see what's going on at the school (I took a bunch of computer and astronomy courses there during my primary and secondary education).  Currently there are 13k undergrad students (17k total), and its endowment is $433M.  For comparison, I looked up my old home in central Maine: Colby College has 2k undergrad, and an endowment of $1.2B (ranked 133rd nationwide).

Yeah, whatever.  More importantly, our motto is Lux Mentis Scientia (Knowledge [is] the Light of the Mind).  Which, uh...I did not, in fact, know until I undertook this exercise.

I also only know a few words to our alma mater, Hail, Colby, Hail (sung to the tune of Ô Canada).  Like, I can sing, "Hail, Colby, hail..." then trail off, mumble something about mem’ried halls, look awkward.

So anyway, the Colby motto brought to mind Apollo 15, which returned to Earth right after my 2nd birthday.  On August 12, 1971, Commander Dave Scott (painted above by his friend and fellow star voyager, Al Bean) said this at the crew's first post-mission press conference:

We went to the Moon as trained observers, in order to gather data not only with our instruments but with our minds. I'd like to quote a statement from Plutarch which I think expresses our feelings since we've come back: 'The mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be lighted.'

That voyage really did raise the bar on our limited lunar exploration, what with the first sports buggy on the moon, more EVA time, and ramped up geological training with scientist-astronaut Jack Schmitt, NASA scientist Farouk El-Baz, and Professor Lee Silver.  Human eyes and brains are better than robots doing random samples for a lot of reasons (which is how Scott and Irwin found the Genesis Rock), yet the most humanist one is something Gus Grissom expressed thusly:

Our God-given curiosity will force us to go there ourselves because in the final analysis only man can fully evaluate the moon in terms understandable to other men.

But back to Plutarch.  I really love Scott's boiled down version of what the philosopher wrote in On Listening to Lectures:

[T]he mind does not require filling like a bottle, but rather, like wood, it only requires kindling to create in it an impulse to think independently and an ardent desire for the truth.

Imagine, then, that a man should need to get fire from a neighbour, and, upon finding a big bright fire there, should stay there continually warming himself; just so it is if a man comes to another to share the benefit of a discourse, and does not think it necessary to kindle from it some illumination for himself and some thinking of his own, but, delighting in the discourse, sits enchanted; he gets, as it were, a bright and ruddy glow in the form of opinion imparted to him by what is said, but the mouldiness and darkness of his inner mind he has not dissipated nor banished by the warm glow of philosophy.

This is essentially how I live teaching and learning, particularly in the corporate environment.

I piloted a "flipped" learning model just at the start of the pandemic, and our program has formally adopted that approach since.  It fits well with our Learn & Be Curious Leadership Principle, placing more emphasis on our learners' work in the so-called Individual Space (studying material and doing lab exercises on their own).

In my experience, it's a rather uncomfortable thing for tech trainers who have traditionally been paid to transfer knowledge from their minds into waiting vessels in the audience through lecture.  But flipped learning has demonstrably better learner experience and learning outcomes, so I enjoy my vocation within this modality (I was at the fore of similar departures from Death by PowerPoint at my first training company).

I bring my cohorts together for Group Space, which is where I can add value by facilitating team presentations and discussion, sharing my real world experience, doing in-depth demos, and tackling more challenging concepts in typical instructor mode.  It has the additional advantage of giving me more opportunity for my own learning because I don't have to talk so much, and can listen more to what my learners have discovered in their educational journeys.

While I do steal a lot from folks in my classes (every artist is a cannibal, every teacher is a thief), hopefully I also help kindle the fires in their minds.  I got some affirmation of that yesterday, when a group wanted to run a capstone project idea by me that was inspired by conversation we had during an instructional session, which was nice.

It's pleasing to see my kids live this as well.  Sam will get hyperfocused on something, learn everything he can about it, then knowledge dump to me (which I admit is a bit exhausting, but generally bodes well).  Sadie has really gotten into math, and shared this week that she aced a particularly challenging in-class assignment.

I observed how good it is that she's kicking ass in the subject because you need to know mathematics to be an astronaut like her almost-namesake, Buzz Aldrin.  "Or to be a teacher," she replied.  Yea, verily.

MASH at 50: How to get ahead in television

As I mentioned earlier in the week, Professor Railton has been doing a series on wartime comedy, culminating with his post on MASH, the TV version of which premiered 50 years ago today.  Go read it.  I'll add just a couple things. 

First, I like this other essay discussing how the show was really about Vietnam.  I've long understood that subtext, and I appreciate how the poster extends their analysis to Combat Hospital, an unsuccessful 2011 attempt to give Afghanistan a MASHy treatment (reminds me of another one called The Six O'Clock Follies that was literally about Vietnam).

Secondly, I'm a little surprised that some people aren't aware that MASH was based on a book written by the proto-Hawkeye.  If that's the case, then those folks might also not know this:

In 1983 he told a reporter for Newsweek that while the show was accurate in its physical portrayal of a MASH unit, it “tramples on my memories.” And his son, William Hornberger, told the New York Times that his father hadn’t intended to write an anti-war book. “My father was a political conservative, and he did not like the liberal tendencies that Alan Alda portrayed Hawkeye Pierce as having,” he explained.

I say the same thing to Hornberger that I say to people bitching about other media and adaptations.

Oh, did Tom Bombadil not sing stupid songs in Jackson's LotR?  Galadriel in Rings of Power doesn't look like a real woman to you?  They made the main character in Anderson's gay love letter black?  Hunter Biden isn't sharing a cell with his dad?

Boofuckinghoo.  No need to lose your head.  The end.

Is it raining with you?

It was here today in the Sound, and I feel right as rain.

Fun fact: they wrote this song whilst staying at the Mayflower Hotel.

Together we will take the road beneath the bitter rain!

The Ent and the Entwife:

When Summer lies upon the world, and in a noon of gold
Beneath the roof of sleeping leaves the dreams of trees unfold,
When woodland halls are green and cool, and wind is in the West,
Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is best!

Treebeard.

I admit that as I've gotten older, whenever I read LoTR*, I tend to skip over most of the songs and poetry.  Tolkien's verse is...not my cuppa, if you take my meaning.

That said, I am watching Jackson's trilogy piecemeal in between Rings of Power episodes, and good ole Fangorn (pictured above) was just reciting some lines to his new halfling friends.  Poems of love lost are my cuppa, so this seemed appropriate for tonight.

 

* Used to be an annual ritual, but I haven't in a few years now.  Perhaps I should break it out again with Hobbit Day coming up.

"Of their vioage, & how they passed ye sea, and of their safe arrivall at Cape Codd..."

Being related to some of the Mayflower's Strangers (Myles Standish and John Alden, and also the kid who almost blew up the boat), I do tend to mark some related events.  On this date in 1620, after her sister ship sprang a few leaks ("these troubls" below), everybody crowded onto their singular vessel and got underway several weeks late:

SEPT: 6. [September 16, 1620 NS] These troubls being blowne over, and now all being compacte togeather in one shipe, they put to sea againe with a prosperus winde, which continued diverce days togeather, which was some incouragmente unto them; yet according to ye usuall maner many were afflicted with sea-sicknes.

And I may not omite hear a spetiall worke of Gods providence. Ther was a proud & very profane yonge man, one of ye sea-men, of a lustie, able body, which made him the more hauty; he would allway be contemning ye poore people in their sicknes, & cursing them dayly with greĉous execrations, and did not let to tell them, that he hoped to help to cast halfe of them over board before they came to their jurneys end, and to make mery with what they had; and if he were by any gently reproved, he would curse and swear most bitterly.

But it plased God before they came halfe seas over, to smite this yong man with a greeveous disease, of which he dyed in a desperate maner, and so was him selfe ye first ye was throwne overbord. Thus his curses light on his owne head; and it was an astonishmente to all his fellows, for they noted it to be ye just hand of God upon him.
...

After they had injoyed faire winds and weather for a season, they were incountred many times with crosse winds, and mette with many feirce stormes, with which ye shipe was shroudly shaken, and her upper works made very leakie ; and one of the maine beames in ye midd ships was bowed & craked, which put them in some fear that ye shipe could not be able to performe ye vioage.

So some of ye cheefe of ye company, perceiveing ye mariners to feare ye suffisiencie of ye shipe, as appeared by their mutterings, they entred into serious consulltation with ye m'. & other officers of ye ship, to consider in time of ye danger; and rather to returne then to cast them selves into adesperate & inevitable perill.
...

So they comited them selves to ye will of God, & resolved to proseede. In sundrie of these stormes the winds were so feirce, & ye seas so high, as they could not beare a knote of saile, but were forced to hull, for diverce days togither.

And in one of them, as they thus lay at hull, in a mighty storme, a lustie yonge man (called John Howland) coming upon some occasion above ye grattings, was, with a seele of ye shipe throwne into [ye] sea; but it pleased God yt he caught hould of ye top-saile halliards, which hunge over board, & rane out at length; yet he held his hould (though he was sundrie fadomes under water) till he was bald up by ye same rope to ye brime of ye water, and then with a boat hooke & other means got into ye shipe againe, & his life saved; and though he was something ill with it, yet he lived many years after, and became a profitable member both in church & comone wealthe...

But to omite other things, (that I may be breefe,) after longe beating at sea they fell with that land which is called Cape Cod; the which being made & certainly knowne to be it, they were not a litle joyfull.

I especially love the "haha, G-d killed the swearing sailor" part juxtaposed with indentured servant Howland surviving to become prosperous*.  Nice to see folks in MA this week being much more Christ-like with their recent unexpected guests.

 

* He was a Separatist, but came from good Quaker stock, and has a lot of famous descendants.

Ecclesiastes 11:9

"This work, so full of pathos and cathartic passion, rarely leaves a dry eye."

Matthew 25:45

To One Coming North:

At first you'll joy to see the playful snow,

  Like white moths trembling on the tropic air,

Or waters of the hills that softly flow

  Gracefully falling down a shining stair.

 

And when the fields and streets are covered white

  And the wind-worried void is chilly, raw,

Or underneath a spell of heat and light

  The cheerless frozen spots begin to thaw,

 

Like me you'll long for home, where birds' glad song

  Means flowering lanes and leas and spaces dry,

And tender thoughts and feelings fine and strong,

  Beneath a vivid silver-flecked blue sky.

 

But oh! more than the changeless southern isles,

  When Spring has shed upon the earth her charm,

You'll love the Northland wreathed in golden smiles

  By the miraculous sun turned glad and warm.

Claude McKay.

"Speaking of Tolstoy..."

...and MASH, and War and Peace, and...Canada?  Well, yeah.  I've mentioned on social media (but not here, I think) that one of my recent military training cohorts included several members of Canadian Armed Forces, which fact doesn't have anything directly to do with the genesis of this post, but is one of those Baader-Meinhof things. 

Since I was just reading and writing about wartime comedy, as well as catching up on events in war-torn Ukraine (synthesis of the two: NAFO!), I happened to notice an item about Canadian forces in the Battle of the Medak Pocket on this date 29 years ago:

As the former Yugoslavia began dissolving into its ethnic and religious component states at the end of the 1980’s, bitter conflict began. The U.N was called in and had troops stationed between the various protagonists, which included the Croatians and Serbians. It was known as the UN Protection Force- UNPROFOR.  But those troops from various countries had been weak and ineffective in preventing attacks and were seen as such by both sides.

Canadians had been involved in U.N duties since 1991, but in March 1993, the 875 members of the 2nd Battalion Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry (2PPCLI) left for a six month tour.
...

In September a very tenuous ceasefire saw the Serbian population in the south come under increasing military pressure from the Croats.  It involved a mostly Serbian farming area around Medak in Croatian territory.

UNPROFOR commander, French General Jean Cot, seeing the need for a determined and professional force presence there sent the Canadians to place themselves between the two sides as a final operation before their tour was over.
...

Backed by two French mechanized companies, on September 15 the Canadians moved forward into [their] positions...but quickly came under tremendous fire from the Croats  who still occupied the few small Serbian inhabited towns in the “pocket”. Apparently, given the weakness of previous U.N forces the Croats seemed to think they could easily frighten and push the U.N troops out of their way as they had before. The fighting continued into the 16th.

The Canadian group, almost half of which consisted of hastily called up and somewhat inexperienced reservists, were armed mostly with light weapons. As fire came in specifically targetting them, they held their ground against repeated attacks, holding out against Croat tanks, artillery, mortars and machine guns returning fire for some 15 hours in an intense battle.

The Medak Pocket battle left four Canadians wounded, and apparently 27 Croats killed.
...

Through the Canadians and the Battle of the Medak Pocket, the U.N force was able to regain the respect it had lost and help prevent further escalation of violence until a proper peace and stability could be achieved in the Balkans albeit some time later. Evidence gathered by the Canadians in the pocket was later used in the Hague war crimes trials.

I was horrified by all the violence in the Balkans, felt so helpless, and am so sad to hear echoes of that trauma today.  I belonged to a Quaker email list (yes, way back in '93), and struck up a long conversation about what I could do to help with an older Friend who had been over there several times for Peace Testimony, and was heading back. 

He talked me down from the idea of my going, which was a good thing because what the hell was I really capable of that point?  That I didn't go has always been in the back of my head, though, and partly informed my decision to go to the Middle East in '09.

Yet, even as a Quaker dedicated to non-violence, I must admit that I'm glad Canadian forces were in the thick of things in 1993, and that Canada continues to support Ukraine in 2022, including through direct military aid.  One hopes this will help speed the end of this war, and ultimately bring about a just peace.

"It's a lovely fucking war. Bravo Six out."

To mark the 50th anniversary of the TV show, MASH (*cough*), Ben Railton is doing a series on war comedy.  Today's is one of my favorites of the genre, of Robin Williams' filmography, and of moviedom: Good Morning, Vietnam.

He asks readers to suggest other comedic war media.  Kelly's Heroes comes to mind, which came out a few months after the MASH movie - Donald Sutherland is in both and while demoted from Capt to Sgt, is pretty goddamned funny no matter what his rank.

Another good one just occurred to me because of the DH Lawrence poem I posted last night.  He became friends with a conscientious objector named Mark Gertler, who painted Merry-Go-Round in 1916:

Quoth Lawrence:

[I]t is the best modern picture I have seen: I think it is great, and true. But it is horrible and terrifying.

And you know, I think he's right.  Anyway, it appears to have inspired a scene in Richard Attenborough's 1969 directorial debut, Oh! What a Lovely War (a radio musical that became a stage musical that became a movie musical).

I've never seen it, but it's now in my queue (not, uh...The Queue, of course).  I'm a sucker for musicals and antiwar satire.

#throwbackthursday

Her phone has been upgraded in the intervening 8 years, and I am thankful we don't pay per minute any more.

I'm lookin' for motivation

I'm lookin' for a new foundation, yeah.

Bagatelle No. 25

Piano:

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;

Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see

A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings

And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.

 

In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song

Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong

To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside

And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.

 

So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour

With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour

Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast

Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

DH Lawrence.

"Yeah? Well, you know, that's just like, uh...your opinion, man."

Returning to James Burke's The Day the Universe Changed:

There is a moment during the acceleration of an aircraft down the runway when the co-pilot calls 'Rotate!' The pilot pulls back the control column and a hundred tons of metal carrying over three hundred people at more than 150 miles per hour rotates about its latitudinal axis by a small number of degrees and rises into the sky. The passengers are on board because they believe it to be a fact that this is what will happen.

Like every other fact that underpins our relationship with the technology structuring our lives, we trust it. We are trained to accept the facts of science and technology no matter how frequently the same science and technology renders them obsolete. Yet the concept of the generally accepted 'fact' is a relatively new one. It came into existence only five hundred years ago as a result of an event that radically altered Western life because it made possible the standardisation of opinion.
...

The medieval adult was in no way less intelligent than his modern counterpart, however. He merely lived in a different world, which made different demands on him. His was a world without facts. Indeed, the modern concept of a fact would have been an incomprehensible one. Medieval people relied for day to day information solely on what they themselves, or someone they knew, had observed or experienced in the world immediately around them. Their lives were regular, repetitive and unchanging.
...

What medieval man called 'fact' we would call opinion, and there were few people who travelled enough to know the difference. The average daily journey was seven miles, which was the distance most riders could cover and be sure of return before dark.

That's as may be.  While we might be able to travel farther, faster with modern technology (even the 2/3 of Americans who don't have passports), and can communicate without traveling, we still have a tenuous relationship with facts. 

I mean, I grew up thinking Mikey from the Life cereal commercials was killed by Pop Rocks and Coke.  And fake news is, well...quite real, and spreads quickly over the intertubes.

I blame the loss of Weekly World News, and a weakening Pentaverate (now that the Queen has gone tits up like the Colonel).

The things that I know

Nobody told me.

Sir, This Is A Hardee's

Pillow Talk:

Pleaded Knob-Cracker with Fail-Safe:

‘You’ve boarded at last, your hands in your pockets,

Hat on the back of your head and flags up the mast.

Can’t I come with you?’

John Fuller.

Bootstrapping the Presidency

While our previous Narcissist-in-Chief is having mob meetings on golf courses, and his dodgy minions are getting their phones seized, it seems like a good time to briefly note what the Continental Congress was doing as the Articles wound down on this date, 1788:

Whereas the Convention assembled in Philadelphia pursuant to the resolution of Congress of the 21st . of Feby . 1787 did on the 17th . of Sept of the same year report to the United States in Congress assembled a constitution for the people of the United States,

whereupon Congress on the 28 of the same Sept did resolve unanimously "That the said report with the resolutions and letter accompanying the same be transmitted to the several legislatures in order to be submitted to a convention of Delegates chosen in each state by the people thereof in conformity to the resolves of the convention made and provided in that case"

And whereas the constitution so reported by the Convention and by Congress transmitted to the several legislatures has been ratified in the manner therein declared to be sufficient for the establishment of the same and such ratifications duly authenticated have been received by Congress and are filed in the Office of the Secretary therefore

Resolved That the first Wednesday in Jany next be the day for appointing Electors in the several states, which before the said day shall have ratified the said constitution; that the first Wednesday in feby . next be the day for the electors to assemble in their respective states and vote for a president; and that the first Wednesday in March next be the time and the present seat of Congress the place for commencing proceedings under the said constitution.

So that placed the election on January 7, 1789, with the Electors meeting on February 4, and Congress kicking off under the new Constitution on March 4:

But a quorum of the whole number not being present, the House adjourned until to-morrow morning eleven o'clock.

That was the drill until April 1, when the House achieved a quorum, followed by the Senate on April 6.  They immediately set to counting the electoral votes in Joint Session, and that was the day George Washington finally became president.