Best of: Night Writer, the early nights

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I have an intense schedule the next 13 days, leading up to me “live-blogging” our European vacation. It’s going to be tough to post regularly before the trip, but I really appreciate the readers of this blog and the readership growth it has experienced (pretty meager by most standards, but still higher than I expected). I feel an obligation to try and have something interesting here for anyone who visits or just stumbles in, so while my nights and lunch-hours are being used for pressing, non-blogging things I’m offering a retrospective of some of my favorite posts from the past 15 months, especially early on. Granted, that might stretch the definition of “interesting” but if you’ve liked what you’ve seen here the past few months, perhaps you’ll like some of the older things as well.

Naturally, some of my first posts were about why I started blogging. Below is my first ever post comparing blogging and CB radio, followed by an excerpt from another post explaining why so many Minnesota bloggers are conservative.

10-4, good buddies — I mean, bloggers
I was in high school when the Citizens Band (CB) radio craze was at its peak. In the rural part of the country where I lived, it seemed as if everyone, including all my friends I rode with, had a CB radio except me.

For those too young to remember, folks would install CBs in their cars and drive around talking to their friends or anyone who happened to be listening in. Ostensibly (a word seldom used by CBers) drivers were on the lookout for “Smokies” (as in Smokey the Bear), which was code for the Highway Patrol – the sworn enemy of drivers and CB enthusiasts who liked to exceed the new 55 mph speed limit. Since sharing the location of Smokies was borderline illegal, and speeding definitely so, most radio users also came up with clever radio names, or “handles” for themselves to mask their true identities – or to project a certain image. An entire jargon of code words and numbers developed to further identify membership in the subculture.

In reality, though, folks just liked to talk and to feel like a part of a community – especially one that had a kind of renegade populist sensibility – and to revel in the semi-anonymity their radios gave them. Some spouted their colorful (in their minds, anyway) philosophies, others talked about the mundane, and some, well, were just adding to the noise.

Not to stretch things too far, but I see a lot of similarities between blogs and CB radios. Growing popularity, community, clever aliases, a unique jargon (MSM, trackbacks, pings, trolls, memes and much more) – and, regardless of political philosophy, that delicious sense of rebellion. I never did get a CB radio, but now I’ve got a blog – and my own chance to add to the noise.

Roger that.

Top 11 Reasons Why Conservative Minnesotans Blog

  1. Plagues. Minnesota is plagued by mosquitos and liberals. While slapping a mosquito brings some satisfaction, slapping a liberal gets you sent to Anger Management. Therefore we blog.
  2. The need for an outlet. The StarTribune and Pioneer Press only publish one of our letters to the editor for every 8 or 10 from the left.
  3. Familiarity breeds contempt. No one knows better that socialism doesn’t work than someone who has experienced it up close.
  4. Perspective. Transplants such as myself know that Republicans in Minnesota sound like Democrats in at least 46 other states.
  5. A target-rich environment. If you can’t find an example of mushy thinking or stubborn wrong-headedness every day, your body may have assumed room temperature (if it has, don’t worry, you can still vote in Washington State).
  6. Size of Audience. Each year you can be fairly certain that at least 50% of Minnesota high school graduates are able to read.
  7. Frustration. “Conservative” leaders here are often as elusive as our walleye – and put up about as much fight.
  8. Hope. Hubert Humphrey ran the Communists out of the Democratic Party here once; maybe it can happen again.
  9. Wildlife management. We love the sound of a loon calling across the lake, but not from the editorial offices of the Strib.
  10. Because ice fishing isn’t as exciting as you might think.
  11. Because it’s not Nice.

A Challenging Word of the Week Bonus!

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With my pending semi-seclusion (see previous post), I’ll hope to tide you over linguistically with not just one, but two Challenging Words of the Week. I’m up to the “Ls” in my book (for those paying attention, there simply wasn’t much of note to choose from in the “Ks”), and here are two words that might liven up your political discourse:

Lamia
(LAY mee uh)noun

The lamiae, in classical mythology, were a race of monsters with female heads and breasts and the bodies of serpents, who enticed young people and little children in order to devour them. The story went that the original lamia was a Queen of Libya with whom Jupiter fell in love. Juno became furiously jealous and stole the children of the queen, who went mad and vowed vengeance on all children. Lamia became a term for any vampire or she-demon. The literal meaning of lamia in Greek is “female man-eater.” In medieval times, witches were sometimes called lamiae. The English poet John Keats (1795-1821) wrote a poem entitled Lamia a short time before his untimely death. In it, a bride, recognized as a lamia by the philosopher Apollonius of Tyana (born shortly before the birth of Christ), vanishes instantaneously. Keats based his theme on an incident related in The Anatomy of Melancholy of the English churchman and writer Robert Burton (1577-1640), who took it from The Life of Apollonius by the Greek philosopher Flavius Philostratus (born c. 170). The enticement or devouring of the young has long been a theme in legend, all the way from the Minotaur of Crete to the Pied Piper of Hamelin. There were no Missing Persons Bureaus in those days to trace the Hamelin kiddies.

My example: There appears to be no shortage of women in both the conservative and liberal ranks who arouse strong feelings amongst their opposition. The next time you want to lambaste a child-devouring she-devil don’t reach for the b-word like some ‘Kos-kid imitating their Greek; go with the Greek and call her a lamia.

Lapidate
(LAP ih date) verb

To lapidate is to stone to death, an old Biblical penalty first suggested by the Lord to Moses, as set forth in Leviticus, for various crimes including adultery, incest, homosexuality, and other such naughty practices, and latterly instituted by the Ayatollah Khomeini of Iran for similar offenses. Jesus was gentler: “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” (John 8:7.) Whatever one’s views may be on the question of capital punishment, lapidation (lap ih DAY shun) is beyond the pale; and never, never associate it with those honest gem cutters and stone engravers discussed under lapidary, even though it comes from the same source, lapid-, the stem of the Latin noun lapis (stone). Further, lapidate has nothing to do with dilapidate or its more familiar form, dilapidated, which comes from Latin dilapidatus, past participle of dilapidare (to demolish), based on the prefix di- (asunder; variant of dis– before certain consonants) plus the same old lapid-. From “dismantled, stone by stone,” dilapidated has come to mean “fallen into decay,” through neglect or abuse, and can apply to things having no connection with stones, from wooden houses to clothing in rags to moldy furniture and books, to say nothing of ravaged bodies.

My example:Despite the Old Testament and Ayatollah references above, lapidation today appears to be largely a Liberal activity. Or maybe it’s desired by both sides, but Liberals are just so much better at it, as anyone who has observed the lapses and subsequent, yet opposite, reprisals suffered by Lawrence Summers and Ward Churchill. The lesson: watch your step around the lamia in academia.

A travel update and blogging lowdown

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Does anyone know the Greek word for “Bite me”?

I’ve spent the last three days trying to schedule a Greek sidetrip to Crete or Santorini into our upcoming family vacation, only to see my carefully balanced (and thoroughly analyzed) plans sink like Atlantis when the airfares literally jumped more than 500 budget-busting dollars right before my eyes. (I love the internet!)

We are now less than two weeks away from invading Europe and I’m about five minutes away from losing my grip. By the time you do all the work around your home and on your job (including a two-day business trip to New Jersey) that is necessary in order for you to go away for three weeks … well, you really need a long vacation. Part of my stress is in working out a suitable itinerary that allows us to see the things we want to see without rushing all over the place, all while staying within the budget. While you might think the “see Europe on $300 a day plan” doesn’t sound like much of a challenge, you should try it with four people at today’s prices and British exchange rate (not to mention the hotel rate, the BritRail rate, the cost of petrol, etc.).

Plans have been slipping through my fingers about as quickly as the remaining moments before our trip. This weekend, though, I was resolved to tie everything up in a dream itinerary: purposeful, yet flexible; affordable yet high in value. It seemed workable; the segments were broken down,: so many days in London and vicinity, off to Greece for four days, divvy up the remainder between Ireland and Scotland, while trying to make it to Normandy for Memorial Day. Not a particularly Herculean task, but right now I’m feeling about like the stuff that was washed out of the Aegean Stables.

I know, no one feels sorry for me. The major part — getting over there and back — has been handled and even if we picked our destinations by throwing pub darts once we got there we’re sure to have a good time and see lots of interesting things. Plus, in all my on-line investigating I discovered EasyJet and low, low airfares in the UK and from there to western Europe. Right now the leading candidate to replace Santorini is a flight to Turin (about $30 per person each way), followed by a little drive down the Tuscan coast from Genoa to Pisa. Once back in England we can fly to Cork (about $20 each), or to Edinburgh (about $30). Of course, if I wanted to see the country from on high I’d simply buy a map, but it’s nice to know rapid, affordable transit is available.

The weekend wasn’t a total waste, then. We didn’t get any of the spring yard work done because of the rain, but put a small but noticeable dent in the housecleaning in preparation for our house-sitting friends. The Reverend Mother has been known to get down on her hands and knees to scrub baseboards when people are just coming for dinner; you might imagine what it’s doing to her to think of people living unsupervised in her house for three weeks. (Personally, I’m thinking of stashing some unmentionables behind the sofa pillows just for fun). Well, I’ll admit to being interested in having everything in ship-shape around here as well; there’s no way I want these people to know I’ve got copies of Sports Illustrated lying around that are older than those in the Dentist’s office.

SO, thanks to a job list that isn’t getting any shorter while the time remaining is, I’m going cut back on posting new things to this blog for the next couple of weeks. I’m really looking forward to blogging from the road (I’m taking my laptop and lining up accomodations with wi-fi), but until we get away I’m only going to post quick things that occur to me rather than sitting down purposefully to compose each evening.

That doesn’t mean, however, that there won’t be something different here every day or so. Borrowing a page from our radio friends, I’m going to queue up (hey, that’s a British word!) a retrospective “Best of the Night Writer” from the last 15 months that I’ve been doing this, especially some of my favorites from the early months when I was getting maybe 15 visitors a day. While it might be “old” stuff, it could very well be new to you, or, if not, I hope you won’t mind seeing these again.

And I will see you again, very soon.

Friday Fundamentals in Film: Boys’ night out #2

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The boys and their dads reconvened for the second movie, drawn by the smell of the large pan of fried chicken I’d set out and my promise that this week’s movie would have a higher body count than the first movie we watched, High Noon. As we ate, however, I went back to the first movie to once again highlight how Marshall Kane’s sense of duty and honor led him to go back and deal with the trouble that was coming because here were similar elements in this week’s movie, Zulu.

With that I started the movie and used the handy DVD “skip to the next scene” feature to jump from the end of the first scene, where a Zulu warrior picks up a rifle from the British column they’ve just wiped out, to the beginning of the third scene where a Zulu runner interrupts a village wedding dance to bring word of the victory to the Zulu chief. This strategic use of the remote control meant we could skip the bit with the topless, dancing Zulu women without losing much of the pre-battle exposition. (I don’t know how much of this movie the boys will remember, but if they only remember one thing I didn’t want it to be dancing girls.)

The group appeared to enjoy the movie, especially the fighting scenes where I heard a few “whoa’s” and “ahh’s” at different times when the action was particularly intense. I also heard a couple of giggles from one young man when he found some deaths kind of funny. I may ask his father to check his son’s bedroom for carcasses of wingless flies. Anyway, it was later in the evening when the film finished and some of the guys were clearly tired so we tried to step through the discussion questions quickly.

This week there a lot fewer silly comments or attempts to veer off into side topics. Part of it may have been because of the hour, but it was also because the guys were more involved in this story. I found, however, that I got better responses and discussion if I made a statement about, for example, the value of discipline and training, rather than asking a leading question as a way to get the young men to reach the answer themselves. A high point, though, was when I asked why Lt. Bromhead had said he wished at that moment that he wasn’t “an officer and a gentleman.” A couple of the boys grasped right away it was because he would have liked to have run away but knew that he couldn’t because of his family history and sense of duty. This discussion gave me the chance to tie this concept back to High Noon and this time I think I saw a couple of light bulbs go on over some heads.

It was also gratifying that as we finished up the guys were asking what movie we were going to see next and not what we were going to have for dinner!

Music in the news

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So much music news lately. For one, everyone’s talking about the new version of our national anthem translated into Spanish with a lot of new lyrics. I guess it was inevitable as illegal workers and non-workers flood in from countries too poor to offer their own jobs, security and national anthem would come here seeking all those things.

Actually, Mexico has a fine national anthem, borrowed from New Jersey: “Born to Run”.

Changing our anthem around to suit their purposes is just downright disrespectful, and these folks wouldn’t like it if others did the same to them. What will the response be when Iran decides to adopt “Living la Vida Loca” as its anthem?

Also, the media seems awed by the artistic daring and originality of Neil Young’s “Impeach the President” song (those that aren’t obsessed with the fate of The Pickler, that is). I guess somebody has to pay attention to these things and the MSM is just irrelevant enough to do the job on both counts while waiting for someone to leak real news to them. In the meantime, Leo has taken the cue from the national anthem changers and come up with new lyrics to Young’s “Old Man” song:

Neil Young, look at your life, you’re a moonbat has-been!
Neil Young, look at your life, you’re a moonbat has-been!

Neil Young look at your life,
64 and and there’s just no more
Livin’ in a drunken stupor
Mind all full o’ goo…
Livin on half a brain
blew your mind out on cocaine
All your lyrics are inane
And your voice is too…

Looking at Neil’s photo, however, I think there’s an opportunity to rework another of his standards. How about “Forehead in Ohio”?

A trip to the filling station

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There’s nothing like being a night owl and having to get up earlier than usual to go to a 7:00 a.m. dentist appointment. The only way it gets any better is if the appointment is to get a tooth filled. So you might expect I was positively giddy with anticipation when I pulled up outside my dentist’s office this morning at 6:58 to see a man about a cavity.

The fact that I was unfed and uncaffienated also boosted my mood. I had deferred my breakfast and my coffee out of courtesy to the professional staff since even the best coffee smells foul second-hand and even with a good tooth and tongue scrubbing before leaving the house I didn’t want to run the risk of having breakfast remnants hanging off of my pearly whites. You’d like to think dentists and hygienists aren’t easily grossed out, but when you’re going to be on your back underneath them with your mouth pulled wide open, why take a chance?

I know a lot of people have made jokes about how the dentist insists on talking to you when you’ve got your mouth full of stuff. My dentist isn’t like that, preferring to chit-chat with his assistant. This morning both were all a-twitter about the latest American Idol developments and the ousting of someone called “The Pickler.” I don’t follow this show except for what I see on Bogus Gold so I don’t have any attachments to the contestants. My dentist, however, is a big fan of Katherine and told his assistant that he plans to vote for her 100 times. My eyebrows may have been knit closely together at that point, perhaps giving the false impression I was interested in the topic. “Who do you like?” he asked.

Ok, when a guy has needles as long as your arm, high-powered pointy objects and knows where all your nerves are you want to be darn sure you don’t poke one of his nerves accidentally. “Urrr, KAFF-FRYN,” I managed to get out.

Now that everyone was comfortably numb it was time to move to the drilling part of the show. I know, again, everyone hates this part and has their own horror stories. I don’t mind it, really, because I try to look on the bright side of things. In this case, it is an excellent opportunity for me to working on shaping and toning my butt cheeks.

Things went very well, however, and I was back in my car ahead of schedule. Of course, my mouth and lips were numb enough to kiss Hillary Clinton but I knew that would pass. I was still numb on one side by the time I got to work and discovered there were muffins to be had. I was pretty hungry, so I took one and tried to carefully push pieces of it where they needed to go without spilling crumbs or slobber down my shirt. It’s amazing how much you can take such a simple and common function for granted until you have to really think about what you’re doing. I apparently didn’t think quite hard enough, however, because at one point the muffin seemed to be a little too tough and chewy and I realized I had inadvertently (of course it was inadvertent) snagged a piece of my lower lip into the mashing works.

Therefore it is time to cut back on the sweets and brush longer and harder to take better care of my teeth. Events like today’s help remind me that I need another cavity like I need, well, another hole in my head.

Movie night tomorrow

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Thursday night is the second gathering for the renewed “Fundamentals in Film” series for boys. This week we’re watching and discussing “Zulu”.

Show time is 7:00 p.m. in South St. Paul, and we’re bringing in fried chicken for dinner. If you’d like to check this out in person, you can reach me through the contact information on the right, or leave a comment.

Atticus, we need you

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Last week I featured “To Kill a Mockingbird” in the weekly Fundamentals in Film series on this blog. The main drama in that movie centers around a black man, Tom Robinson, on trial for raping a white woman. The man is defended by the main character of the movie, Atticus Finch. As I watched the movie again it got me to thinking about some the interesting parallels and juxtapositions between the movie trial and the seamy details surrounding the current rape case against the Duke lacrosse players.

My interpretation of these parallels does not mean I think the Duke players are innocent of rape as Robinson was innocent. The statements and disparagement of the evidence (and lack of evidence) proclaimed by the defense teams are interesting, but I keep in mind that these are the defense lawyers after all, doing their job while the prosecution has to play it closer to the vest. It is worth noting that while there has been a lot of attention focused on the alleged victim’s questionable past, it turns out that one of the defendents himself may not be a model of decorum either. This doesn’t mean that he or his friend are guilty, either. That judgment must still be played out, and will be in the eyes, ears and hands of the judge and jury that draw the case.

What I found interesting, however, is that implicit in the movie was the prejudicial “you know how they are” assumption by most of the whites regarding Tom and his fellow black men. Part and parcel of that was the belief that one didn’t dare doubt the word of a white woman, especially over that of a black man. Today the situation is reversed: I sense a distinctly implied “you know how they are” assumption about the privileged, white lacrosse players from an elite school. Meanwhile, politically correct doctrine says that of course you never doubt the word of a woman over a man. These are really just different drawers in the same chifferobe, where ugly things have been stuffed for generations. I would have hoped that if we had learned anything by now it is that no sex and no race has a monopoly on honor and innocence, nor is any free from having its own self-serving agendas and rationalizations.

In both the movie and in real life the defense tries to show the absurdity of the prosecution’s case. Atticus Finch, for example, demonstrated that the victim could only have been beaten by a left-handed man, while the defendent was unable to use his left hand as a result of a childhood farming accident. Today, the miracles of DNA testing, cell-phone photos and time-stamped ATM transactions go up against eye-witness accounts and whatever evidence District Attorney Mike Nifong has that has given him the confidence to pursue the case.

In both the movie and in the current events it is clear that something went on. The movie didn’t reveal just what that something was. It will be interesting to see if the same will be said of the upcoming trial. One thing that does seem the same in both cases, however, is that the person representing the interests of the black person (Finch for the defense in the movie, Nifong now) shoulders the most hostility. For everyone’s sake, what this circus needs is the quiet decency of a real-life Atticus on both sides but I fear that possibility left town the minute the first tv camera hit town, leaving the media to grow as fat and thick as ticks on a Carolina hound.

Of course, “To Kill a Mockingbird” was a story, while today’s story is all too real. The real difference for me, however, is that the movie reflected the fear of change. Today’s events reflect the fear that perhaps we haven’t really changed at all.

For the benefit of Mr. Kite (and Alice Cooper and Steven Tyler)… look away

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The thing about the latter 1970s is that so much of the weirdness then can be easily attributed to drugs. Well, drugs and Jimmy Carter. Now when I look back on those times I often get the feeling that I’m revisiting an alternative universe. Lately I’ve been inclined to write these perceptions off as a matter of me getting older, while discounting the ready access to certain botanicals and pharmaceuticals back then. After some unfortunate channel-surfing over the weekend, however, I’m back to my original hypothesis.

Friday night I watched the last half of the 1978 “film”, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Yes, I had full control of the remote and could have changed the channel or looked away, but there was an oddly compelling desire to look, such as what one gets when passing a road accident or a pro-illegal immigration rally. When I first saw the movie in a theater (what are these “movie rental” and “cable television” things you speak of?) I remember lamenting the experience as nothing more than the waste of $3, which I alternatively could have used to purchase half a tank of gas.

Now, looking back from the omniscience of my years I can see where this movie was the place where the fabric of the universe first took on the look of the frayed or torn blue jeans so common back then. Could it be more than coincidence that torn jeans are once more in vogue and this movie is circulating via satellite waves? (And for the record, kids, back in my day we had to work to get those jeans looking like that.)

I’m sure it seemed like a good idea at the time to movie executives to do a rock opera homage to the Beatles. Beatles music was still big, processed rock and roll was starting to rule the land, no dialogue would make it easier to cover up that no one could act and Peter Frampton still had three or four seconds left of his 15 seconds of fame. Peter Frampton? Lord, yes, the movie starred Peter Frampton, looking like he weighed 110 pounds and in all his white blond curls as if he was trying to channel William Katt in The Greatest American Hero, but with half the machismo.

Predictably the result was more homogenization than homage with casting trying to pull in as many popular icons of the era regardless of field or musical genre. Hence the film also features The BeeGees, George Burns, Steve Martin, Alice Cooper, Aerosmith and Earth, Wind & Fire. The BeeGees have the largest roles after Frampton, but I never could (or never bothered) to keep their names straight; to me they’ve always been Big Hair BeeGee, Missing Hair BeeGee and Blond Hair BeeGee. The trippiest performance, predictably, was Cooper singing “Because” while the best part of the movie was Aerosmith’s great cover of “Come Together” (and I’m not even that much of an Aerosmith fan).

To show just how much drugs (or money) were involved you only need to know that both Alice Cooper and Steven Tyler get their butts kicked by Peter Frampton. Yeah, right, like that could happen, especially since Frampton’s “moves” seemed to have been borrowed from the scene in “Blazing Saddles” where the men’s chorus fought with the cowboys, or perhaps Lauren Bacall trying to hit Edward G. Robinson in “Key Largo”. I don’t know how much they had to pay Cooper and Tyler (or with what) to go along with this indignity, but I hope for their sakes it was enough. I mean, it would have been more believable for George Burns to win the fight, or even Jimmy Carter’s Killer Rabbit who, apparently, wasn’t cast in the movie because he wasn’t famous until the following year.

As insipid as the movie was it somehow exerted a strong pull on me, not unlike what a kleenex must feel as it gets sucked down the toilet. Maybe it was the lateness of the hour and my fatigue, or the effects of some post-hypnotic suggestion I received in the 70s. The pay-off, however, meager as it may have been was the final scene when the producers pulled in every idle celebrity within a 10 mile radius of the studio for a group chorus of “We’re Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band,” shot to look like the album cover.

I was just about to turn the tv off when the camera started panning the pre-“We Are the World” assembly, challenging my ability to recognize these people from nearly 30 years ago. OMG, is that Johnny Winter? What’s he doing in this abomination? Rick Derringer and Nils Lofgren — what, did the producers have photos of you with teen-age girls? Wasn’t that Jackson Browne, or only Keith Carradine? Hey, there’s that other guy with my name, and Hank Williams, Jr! Bowser from Sha-Na-Na? They must have been offering free food at the recording session and he walked in. Whoa, there’s Heart from back when they were still good-looking, and a low-miles Bonnie Raitt! Leif Garret, go back to your room NOW, young man. They even had Dr. John and Robert Palmer in there, no doubt to ensure that no matter how stupid the filming was, the cast party was smoking.

I know, I know, I need to chill. I don’t know why this set me off, but I’ll just do what Alice Cooper and Steven Tyler do whenever they think of this and that is to repeat over and over, “It’s only a movie. It’s only a movie.”

Challenging Word of the Week: jeremiad

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Jeremiad
(jer uh MYE ud) noun

A jeremiad is a tale of woe, a lamentation, a doleful complaint, a plea for compassion, deriving its name from the Lamentations of Jeremiah, the Old Testament prophet of the sixth and seventh centuries B.C. A book of the Bible attributed to him bears his name. He called for moral reform, threatening doom if his message went unheeded. It is the prediction of doom and disaster that we associate with his name. “How doth the city sit solitary, that was full of people! how is she become as a widow!…She weepeth sore in the night…all her friends…are become her enemies…Jerusalem hath greviously sinned…The joy of our heart is ceased…O Lord…wherefore dost thou…forsakes us…thou art very wroth against us.” Thus spake Jeremiah; but how very boring it can be to be forced to listen to the jeremiads of one’s trouble-prone acquaintances! Jeremiah is a name given to any person who takes a gloomy view of his times and denounces what is going on in the world.

My example: Oh, the jeremiads of the modern major generals (ret.)!

From the book, “1000 Most Challenging Words” by Norman W. Schur, ©1987 by the Ballantine Reference Library, Random House. I post a weekly “Challenging Words” definition to call more attention to this delightful book and to promote interesting word usage in the blogosphere. I challenge other bloggers to work the current word into a post sometime in the coming week. If you manage to do so, please leave a comment or a link to where I can find it. Previous words in this series can be found under the appropriate Category heading in the right-hand sidebar.