Monthly Archives: May 2010

It’s Not About The Barbecue

2010.05.31
By

UNTIL THEIR SACRIFICE IS OBVIATED by a calmer world, we remember them.

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Silicon Intermission

2010.05.26
By

WE AT FRANCE STREET TOOL and Blog (i.e., Ann & moi — G is only exploring keyboards) will be offline for the next 12 to 18 hours, G?d willing, as a new computer (thanks again, Dad) replaces the old (thanks again, Don). Try to be good to each other in the meanwhile?

Pithyism #6,001

2010.05.26
By

IN THE 10,000-YEAR-WIDE BUBBLE that is civilized collective consciousness, every death is the end of an era.

So Much For Earth

2010.05.24
By

What happens when the opposable thumb outweighs the brain? Fun fun fun! Unless, of course, you live here.

Fig. 1

WORST-CASE SCENARIO: THE BP SPILL will kill everything in the Gulf of Mexico. This will be the tipping point for all of Earth’s oceans to die. In 50 years we’ll be wishing for one more breath, if we even live that long.

So much for immortality, rice pudding and Beethoven, not to mention the Cubs’ pennant chances. (Apparently we’ll all die before hell freezes over[1].) And all because we weren’t smart enough to count our blessings before turning them into curses. It’s not like we didn’t see it coming … but it’s hard to really see through a primate program that says Someone Bigger Will Fix This and It’ll All Be Okay, Somehow.

Well, right now, for this, there isn’t anyone or anything bigger than what the hands of man can build. Right now we’re at the mercy of our own inventiveness.

To whomever-from-Elsewhere may find this note: My apologies on behalf of (at least the wiser members of) my species and the others we silenced. We really thought we’d hold it all together long enough to find you, or for you to find us, or at least to become smart enough to solve all of our problems, or at least the pressing ones, or even decide what they were, so you see our difficulty, but that’s all moot now. Enjoy the fruits of what we were and could have been.

And please, despite my own anger, don’t judge us all too harshly. We were only self-domesticated apes after all, choosing expediency over longevity. Let this be a lesson to yours and other species: Always look for the catch — and if you don’t see one, look harder.

PS: And if this sounds defeatist and crabby and depressing to you, why are you just sitting there? Go ahead. Make me a liar.

Please.

__________________________________
- [1] To Bill, Stanley, Jay and my other Chicagoan friends– my condolences.
- Graphic courtesy of http://www.warninglabelgenerator.com/.

Pithyism #2.35

2010.05.22
By

THE FIRST TIME, YOU SEE/READ/HEAR IT for the story; the second time for nuance; third (and thereafter) is sheer love of craft.

Jon Stewart Slams Glenn Beck Idol

2010.05.21
By

THE DEMISE OF THE HEADLINE-WRITER’S art (according to a recent article fed through both Slashdot and The Daily Beast) dictates an appeal to search engine optimization (SEO) instead of readers — something that snags on Google instead of anticipatory imagination. Thus, the perfect SEO headline for anything would be the above, as it’s (quoting from memory since I can’t find the original article, alas) “guaranteed to bring in thousands of page hits.” (I added “Idol” just to tweak the numbers, in my own special pundit Beltway Comedy Central Lady Gaga Obama porn Mafia Wars Stephen Colbert Go USA way.)

So there we go. I’ll post an update in 24 hours (hmm… better make it 36) and see how many Fabulous Prizes and Destination Sunsets we’ve won. (So to speak. Heh heh heh.)

UPDATE: JSSGBI+10 minutes: THIS is CREEPY. As in OMG!!! creepy. I no sooner post this when, touched by curiosity, I Google “Jon Stewart Slams Glenn Beck.” And:

The mind-blowing evidence of Google's unholy grasp on the world's electronic tentacles.

Fig. 1.

NUMBER FIVE??? IN N*I*N*E M*I*N*U*T*E*S?!?!?!?!? That’s actually pretty cool…

I’m Going To Miss Being Married To A Coed

2010.05.20
By

HAD WE THE MEANS, I would hire a brass band to play a grand-style Sousa rouse in approximately four hours and forty-five minutes.

That’s when Ann, my wife, companion and partner for going-on-twenty-two years returns from her last final exam as an undergraduate.

It’s been about four years since she began this enterprise through Sonoma State University‘s bachelor-of-liberal-arts-for-working-adults program, which enterprise actually began 40 years ago in the foothills of Oakland back in California’s glorious days of free (yes, FREE) community college, or rebegan in the mid-1990s when we both started attending the justly top-rated Santa Rosa Junior College simply because we lived two blocks away, and where I learned the news business and Ann became valedictorian and Associate of Arts with highest honors and — maybe, someday, in a dream — poised for the bachelors’ race. But four years ago it ceased to be a dream, and every day since has been a struggle toward today. Or rather next Saturday, G?d willing, when Ann dons cap and gown to walk across a stage for her diploma: a “piece of paper” made out of ink, sweat, tears and highlighter stains.

I like the symbolism of mounting and crossing the stage; when people work as hard as Ann has — and I’ve never seen anyone work harder, not ever, for anything — they should be soundly and roundly applauded. Hard work is counterintuitive for a species as easily bored as Homo sapiens, and when someone lifts herself up she elevates everyone around her.

So, no brass bands. The music would just float away — much like these words. But before they do: Congratulations, honey mine. You made it.

Song of the Universe

2010.05.18
By

TONIGHT IS SHAVUOT, WHICH CELEBRATES the gift of Torah at Mt. Sinai some 3,322 years ago. Whether one believes the Torah’s own account is inconsequential; what we celebrate is the living text (rather, Living Text) itself and its indivisibility from the Jewish soul. (It’s not just about Mel Brooks and rye bread, folks.) Jews the world over will be cracking the books for an allnighter of mind-stretching scope, G?d willing. For the hardcore, that means a survey of the Hebrew Bible (Torah, Prophets, Writings), Talmud (Mishna and Gemara), Law Codes (Mishneh Torah, Shulchan Aruch), Commentaries (Midrash) and a smidgen of qabala (Zohar), learning in pairs until dawn (or if unable, in bed until sleep).

Locally, that means a study party at our rabbi’s house tonight between 9 and midnight (if you don’t know where that is, shoot one to scoopatsonicdotnet and I’ll tell you). Everyone is invited to bring a personal piece of Torah to share; I’ll attempt to convey the thousand-year grandeur of the Talmudic intellectual tradition in fifteen minutes, and also acquaint everyone with a little-known text (at least until recently, at least to me) called Perek Shirah.

Perek Shirah (“Verses of Song”) is Torah writ large — 84 verses worth of Universe As Teacher. The text is at least 2,000 years old, according to its Jewish Encyclopedia article, and of uncertain authorship. Each verse (Psalms or Prophets, but mostly Psalms) illustrates how Torah is transmitted through a particular element, plant or animal. Its preface quotes the Talmud (Eruvin 100b), and fairly summarizes the work’s intent: “R. Yochanan said: ‘If these things were not prescribed in the Torah, we could learn decency from the cat; the ant would preach against robbery, and the dove against incest.’

By my own level of scholarship, Perek Shirah is somewhat over my head — which only interests me further. A free copy may be downloaded from three different websites (it’s the same 208k PDF):

http://www.archive.org/details/AkivaPerekShirahperekshirahebengslifkinpdf
http://lazerbrody.typepad.com/lazer_beams/files/perek20shirah20booklet.pdf
http://www.zootorah.com/books/Perek%20Shirah%20booklet.pdf

Chag sameach (happy holiday)!

Under Oasine: Chapter Two Synopsis

2010.05.16
By

NO ONE WAS MORE SURPRISED than I to have finished the second chapter of my novel[1], nor when the characters hijacked the plot (at about the 0.23 mark. Stephen King said that was going to happen eventually). Thus, in all its synoptic glory[2]:

In our previous chapter, our three heroes (one reluctant), in their quaint craft the Deeper, tumbled deep into the oasis of Fint to surface only the Hydrator knows where. Are they lost, or is their hometown, or…?

After a brief discussion, Twiz and Ij take the Deeper’s small-boat (and a variety of weapons) for a closer look at their new surroundings while Hapler putters with the quaint craft’s gomaker: a complex assembly of pith and vegetative muscle, now damaged from the Deeper’s tumble.

Twiz and Ij soon discover that, wherever they are, at least they won’t starve. Fish are plentiful within the oasis lagoon, and fruit from its overhanging palm trees; but these are as unfamiliar to the explorers as the songs of afternoon insects. Ij is so taken by a clump of flowers that he doesn’t notice the beast until it leaps on him. A quick struggle, some deft spear-work by Twiz, and the sharp spindly thing lies dead.

Meanwhile, Hapler has troubleshot the damage and is heartened to see that it’s minimal. He is about to effect repairs when a banging on the hull draws his attention: Twiz, with the delirious form of Ij. The two lash their stricken companion into his hammock, then medicate him into sleep.

After a fitful dinner, Twiz and Hapler divide the night between them. Nothing happens during Twiz’ watch (beyond some intense apprehension and self-castigation); Hapler is just beginning to enjoy the strange insect-song when he notices a ring of eyes all around the Deeper. The eyes belong to slender grey-green figures — about a dozen of them — who swarm over the craft and subdue its astonished occupants.

Tune in next time (say, another 5,000 words) for the next thrilling chapter of Under Oasine!

[1] “My novel” (I love saying that; insert Peewee Herman giggle) is called “Under Oasine.” It’s set in an otherwise desert world, and everything I blog about it is tagged, well, http://metaphorager.net/tag/under-oasine/.

[2] Sorry, that’s all you get ’til the whole thing is done. (See http://metaphorager.net/under-oasine-synopsis1/, second paragraph.)

4:20 Torah (not what you think)

2010.05.14
By

France Street Torah Study
Saturday, May 15, 2010 – 10 am to noonish
Home of Neal and Ann (707.933.9430 for directions)
Parsha Bamidbar: Numbers 1:1-4:20; Haftorah Hosea 2:1-22

THIS SHABBAT, AT LEAST IN Sonoma, at least on France Street, brings us a bit of a pickle — really more of a relish plate.

Our weekly Torah portion is Bamidbar, the beginning of Numbers: four chapters and twenty verses full of marching orders, duty rosters and difficult-to-pronounce names. While I am the last person in the world to grouse about our holy Torah, I will admit that some bits are more challenging than others to interpret with apparent relevance to our lives. (Leviticus, say.)

Since this will be the Shabbat before Shavuot (see announcement below), our textual choices include the Book of Ruth (traditionally read /on/ Shavuot) and Pirke Avot (a collection of rabbinical proverbs read on the Shabbat afternoons between Pesach and Shavuot; some say Pesach and Rosh Hashanah). We can study these instead of or in addition to Bamidbar (and either speed-reading or synopsizing the latter).

Come to Torah study. And exercise your power of choice.

Shabbat shalom,

Neal

A Couple More Hamburgers

2010.05.13
By

HAMBURGERS AND FRIES SMELL BEST in a brown paper bag on the passenger seat.

They are cooked by the hardworking longmarried Chinese couple on the other side of Sonoma from the hardworking longmarried Jewish couple who’ll soon be eating them together.

The Chinese couple laugh and make secret jokes with each other in a brick building with painted dogs and banana shakes and secret sauce.

The Jewish couple almost only eat these hamburgers to celebrate. Tonight it’s the last day of school, for the one whose college education began 40 years ago next week, who has sweated and cried and (even) bled, and doesn’t like pickles or onions.

Forty years ago, neither couple had so much as heard of Sonoma.

Don’t rule out anything in a town where dreams come true.

Frank Frazetta, RIP

2010.05.11
By

Frank Frazetta 1928-2010

IF YOU GEEKLY ADOLESCED IN the 1970s, his illustrations danced through your dreams, between your headphones and into your all-night D&D sessions. His is the pen that transported us to immortal Barsoom and summoned Conan with his blood-dark legions; whose ink-wet brush splashed with light and weird shadow barbarian, cowboy, and demon prince alike; whose voluptuous Vampirella idiom was often copied, occasionally parodied, never equaled.

Frank Frazetta: February 9, 1928 – May 10, 2010. Thank you, sir, for bringing us wonders.

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Celebrating the remaining days:hours:etc until Apophis II. Live it up, Earthlings.

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