All the Net's indeed a stage, and we are merely bloggers
December 30, 2011
nitwittery, sadness Leave a comment
Don’t worry, I’m not about to bore you with a long list of “they’re” for “their,” or herds of wandering apostrophes hoping to find contractions. In fact, this is really just a singular failure - in both senses of that phrase.
Below is a timed screen cap of MSN.com’s front page. See if you can spot the area of concern.
This word “legends”… I don’t think it means what you think it means.
December 27, 2011
the good kind, this time it's personal Leave a comment
Chez Nightfly tends to be a little over-the-top at Christmastime.
Both Ladybug and I have family tradition to uphold, I suppose. And we are careful. We start budgeting for things early because we have numerous cousins and close friends we like not to neglect. And then there’s always that “oh, they would LOVE this” overrun, but we set ourselves strict guidelines. (They have to be strict in order to keep violations small and manageable.)
Lately I’ve tried to set myself to a new tradition as well, that of giving away something for every new thing that shows up under the tree or in a stocking. When you reckon up the various numerous cousins and close friends sending swag back in the other direction, this becomes an admitted challenge, but it’s worth doing. I even got a head start this year with a few items that I discovered with tags still on from last Christmas. (If I never missed it, others certainly need it more than I do.)
Sometimes it surprises me that my wife and I live in a house we pay for ourselves… I get old throwback suspicions that someone’s parents are somehow footing the tab. When stuff starts showing up from other people? Well, then I suspect that I’ve bamboozled the world, and that it’s really meant for some other, nicer person who looks like me, and of whom I am doing only a cut-rate impersonation.
So far I’ve only discovered two antidotes.
The first is gratitude. Plenty is a blessing, and privation is a handicap; unless one is choosing hardship for a greater good, it doesn’t help to forego a gift. It tends in fact to backfire, and looks like pride or snobbery (if not actually becoming so), and makes others feel miserable for trying to be nice. Better to be happy in receiving as well as giving.
The second is watching others be happy. My younger relatives are a delight as they tear into wrapped gifts and see what’s inside – half the fun is the discovery, and the other half is the excitement of everyone together laughing and enjoying themselves. It takes a little while for them to really realize that the gifts are theirs to keep and enjoy all the year.
I think that this year my impersonation may have improved. The time we all spent together was lovely. I hope that you and yours also had a fine Christmas together.
December 22, 2011
sadness, this time it's personal 2 Comments
My father wasn’t ever a person to go easy on himself.
He had no trouble with slowing down, as long as it was something worth the time. That list just wasn’t very long. Family on top, his artwork next, good friends and good music… If it was on the list, he would take whatever time and effort he could to do right.
He was an avid model builder and would take painstaking trouble to get whatever effect he wanted. If he was putting together a Panzer and a Sherman, it wasn’t enough to have them set up like showroom cars; they would invariably landd blows, with blackened cotton-ball smoke and holes from small-arms fire rising from one crippled tank, while the other advanced on worn and muddy treads.
He was just as avid a father and husband. He did a lot of the cooking, taught us how to ride our bikes and throw and catch. He got me started on model building, but it wasn’t something I could get into… a lot of guys might have kept after it, because unfortunately their kids are all about them instead of the other way around; Dad just found other ways to spend time with me. He taught me chess, let me teach him video games. My brother didn’t like chess so much, so Dad found another path with him - art.
Our sister was the apple of his eye, and I’m sure there was a path for them, but there wasn’t time to find it.
December 20, 2011
culture, happenings, politics, readin', writin', ryth-m-ic, sadness, Uncategorized 2 Comments
Sonic Charmer takes a look into the tears of the Hermit Kingdom.
I’ve heard it written (if that makes sense) that of course people were sobbing about the death of Kim Jong Il – his soldiers would have no compunction about shooting them dead if they were insufficiently sorrowful. That’s true enough, but as Charmer observes, that might inspire an actual, sincere devotion as well:
This interpretation seems to stem from the error of assuming that North Korean people and society is basically like our people and society, just with a wacky dictator on top. Like a charmingly more-straitlaced version of South Korea, that happened to have a crazy celebrity who uses/kills people in charge. I think, rather, that having a wacky dictator on top of your society actually affects the society. What I tend to see in North Korea is Jonestown writ large. A mass psychosis. Almost all of the people depicted there would qualify as mentally ill here. …
We’re going to have to face it: People love their dictators. And the more miserable they are, the more they will love him. The more empty and powerless their lives are, the more their hopes and dreams get tied up with the dictator’s fate.
This reminded me of a scene that very effectively spells out the difficulty (video will play when you click).
What’s most striking is the chilling confidence of Darkseid. His victory is already assured. Even though the outcome of the fight is not certain, his position is fixed beyond the power of Superman to alter or remedy. No earthly dictator can have this sort of permanent authority, of course, but for as long as it lasts, the dictator might as well BE all-encompassing. Kim could erase his people from this life as surely as Darkseid’s Omega Beams do in the DC universe.
So, yes – this is the first thing I thought of when I saw the public mourning of the North Koreans after Kim died. Dear Leader was many things to many people… and there, he was God. The difficulty is not that his people don’t recognize him as cruel and mad, but that they do.
If China suddenly decided that they had too many problems internally to bother with DRNK as a satellite/buffer/proxy, and buggered out – if the South and its allies swept through and reunited the penninsula under democratic rule – there would be years, possibly decades, of drastic unrest. This would happen even if the initial unification were peaceful. If you’ve paid attention to the Middle East over the past ten years, you already know how it would play out: the South would be seen as welcome liberators, who were nonetheless despised, and everywhere those accustomed to the old regime would seek ways to recreate it on some level – and that goes for the entire chain, from the ultimate power down through the brokers and facilitators and petty jacks-in-office, right down to the bottom-rung oppressed. There would be little corrupt fiefdoms springing up everywhere, if not efforts to use the democratic process to elect a new Dear Leader.
Hell, you don’t need the Middle East to see it in action, either: only a very unfortunate neighbor who grew up in an abusive household, endlessly building copies of it in their own life, even while lamenting to friends that “this is stupid” and “he’ll never change” and “I never want to be like my parents were.” They keep going back anyway – they regard their interventionist friends as meddlers who only provoke the abuse, and if they just left well enough alone, they could go back to happily living on constant eggshells in the vague hope of catching the abuser in a peaceable mood every once in a while. They need healing from within, before they can accept changes from without.
None of this is to say that efforts to help are unwise; just that they are often as thankless as they are necessary. Every once in a great while, however, they work far more brilliantly than could ever be hoped, and the people as one make the change, and where they were once caged in their own homeland, they break free and reassume their sovereignty. The counterpoint is made more startling here because of the man who died on the same day – Vaclav Havel – and the Velvet Revolution that he helped to focus and came to embody. But there, I have to let the better writer take over, so please read this from Sheila O’Malley on the playwright and former Czech President. One thing that she wrote stands out – the thing that made the difference -
… his philosophy was that, yes, he lived in an un-free society, but he would behave as if he were free. The magic “as if”, so much a theatrical term, used to describe the mystery of the creative process of actors (act “as if” you were such and such). Of course, Havel, a man of the theatre, would use the “as if” as a way to survive oppression. He did not compromise. He acted “as if” he were living in a free society, and drove the authorities slowly insane.
My only comment on that is to offer a slight but important clarification. Havel, strictly speaking, did not drive the authorities insane; by living sanely himself, he only revealed that they had been insane the whole time.
December 15, 2011
Over at Dustbury, friend Charles is rolling unsteadily down memory lane with Insideline.com’s 100 Worst Cars of All Time.
These misbegotten hunks of pre-rusted misery are not exactly your Daddy’s hot rod Lincoln… though they will drive you to drinkin’. The unloved, the half-assed, and the openly-dangerous are all on display here, some with advert copy that makes one fully believe in the doctrine of the Fall of Man. How else could such lies be told, and with such impossibly bad grammar?
Fortunately the Insideline folks are providing the quality snark. For #50, the ’55 Dodge Le Femme, they observe, “Few were sold because, apparently, transvestism isn’t good marketing.” For #86, the infamous ’90 Chevy Lumina minivan: “Plastic-bodied van with an aardvark nose and dashboard top big enough to host a track meet.” But their best might be when they just give it to us straight:
#17: 1982 Renault Fuego: Fragile, front-drive French coupe that rusted quickly into dust or burst into flames amid random electrical fires. Recalled for steering wheels that came off in drivers’ hands. [emphasis mine]
You know, for that silent movie comedy experience. They had such fun adventures! I mean, who doesn’t love Buster Keaton? A filthy commie, that’s who. Vivé la Renault!
December 8, 2011
culture, made of awesome, the Lord's own hockey Comments Off
The Lighthouse Hockey Blogfather, Dominik Jánský, has written up a wonderful essay on former New York Islander Brad Dalgarno, inspired partially by a piece written by Johnette Howard for The National, that late, great daily sports newspaper.
Both essays, in my opinion, are much more than just ice hockey stories, and even non-fans will get a lot out of them.
December 2, 2011
this time it's personal 2 Comments
November 7, 2011
culture, faith, happenings, this time it's personal 3 Comments
Gerard van der Leun, master of the admirable American Digest, had a major health event recently. In his slow recuperation, he has discovered that patience is not just a virtue, but a necessity:
It is only in the last few weeks that the virtue of patience is beginning to dawn on me. That virtue is, “If you are patient with yourself, you may live. If you insist on running the 4 minute mile this afternoon, you will be checked out of here in a wicker basket.” In short, “patience” is no longer an option but a requirement. My previous reaction to illness has been to get over it and then get back to work. No such option here.
In a small way, I begin to understand Mr. van der Leun’s feelings here, because I, like him, have never been a patient fellow. One cause is that I’ve had a very durable mortal coil for my whole life. I have no allergies. I’ve never broken a bone. My only surgery was an appendectomy at 13… and after a week I was more than eager to go running around, since I didn’t have any post-operative pain anymore. My heart and blood pressure are superb. I’ve been stitched up a few times but nothing truly serious. I don’t even wear glasses as I approach 40.
In short, I’m the idiot who sickens you by mentioning my stubbed toe when you talk about your cancer screenings and diabetes treatments.
This isn’t to brag, though. The truth is that I had nothing to do with my health. I didn’t pick out my body from the factory.* In a way, it’s like goaltending – I can’t win the game, I can only lose it. Likewise, I can’t do much for my health except NOT screw it up. I can smoke or get sloshed or ski off a cliff … afterward, I can quit and dry out and stay in the ICU for weeks. But the healing is really a function of nature and medicine, not of my own actions. I can hinder it by disobeying my doctors. If I listen, I’m not “speeding up the process” as is commonly understood – it can’t go any faster with my help than it does on it’s own. (If I have to move 20 soccer balls down a hill, I can simply let nature roll them for me, or I can go more quickly by kicking or throwing them down. But I can’t do that with a natural process like healing, any more than I can digest my food more quickly. It’s already as fast as it’s going to get.)
* Good thing too. I’d probably wind up with something like this. [music at link]
Apoplgies to Mr. van der Leun here, because here I go about my stubbed toe… or in this case, the meniscus in my left knee. Last month I tore it all to hell. The doctor said that I’m actually lucky, because people with the severity of my injury usually also tear their ACL and MCL, and I only sprained those. What could have been a months-long recovery is already well-underway for me. But I do need surgery to fix the meniscus, if it can be fixed* – and if it is, then I have up to 12 more weeks to hobble about. It’s driving me crazy.
* If it can’t be fixed, they’ll remove the damaged portion – and in that case, doctor says that I’m cleared for full activity. Once it’s gone there’s nothing left to recover from, ergo, complete recovery. The downside is that without it, my knee will come to grief in the long-term, so they will repair it if at all possible.
It’s hard for me to imagine being so badly injured or ill that I can’t even walk the dog, or go up or down stairs, or have to catch my breath just getting out of bed and to the bathroom in the morning. It would honestly send me round to bedlam. Reading about Gerard van der Leun, however, does something else to me. It hurts my conscience. I’m just a selfish little prig kvetching about my impaired knee. It hurts, sure, but it won’t kill me. It doesn’t even hurt as much as it did on the night. If I wanted to be a moron, I could probably play a game tonight, though it would be painful and risk worse injury. But that’s the thing – it would really be foolhardy; in a way it would be ungrateful to push myself. I actually ought to be relieved I dodged worse, and glad that I have the expectation of full recovery. The trick, though, is in being patient. The older word for it is longsuffering, and it captures the essence more completely, I think.
To indulge in a little practical philosophy: longsuffering is entirely out-of-favor in a culture that regards convenience and comfort to be the chief aims in life, disposed of along with many other Biblical concepts. You could protest that you’re not a believer, and that’s fine, because on the topic of patience I am in practice quite the apostate. But it’s also counted as a virtue in many cultures and a few decidely non-Christian belief systems. If we wanted to be systematically rational about it, we can see why: things like convenience and comfort are quite similar to many of the things already mentioned above, in that their natural state is very difficult to improve. We “make ourselves comfortable,” but by getting warm and dry. It’s not so much doing a positive thing, as it is avoiding a bunch of negatives: we get out of the rain, into dry and soft clothes, bundle ourselves off to bed or the couch, and then – SIT. Once we’re set up we don’t have to do much of anything to stay comfortable. To take a convenient path is mostly about avoiding trouble, not making extra work for yourself. We can’t win that game – only lose it.
My knee, however, is already injured. The inconvenience and discomfort are a given. Before I even react, the chief aims of this world are frustrated and I cannot possibly fulfill them. And I don’t even have to be injured for that to happen. No matter how comfortable I get, sooner or later I’m going to get hungry, and have to leave my comfort behind. No matter how convenient I try to make life, something is always going to be in the way or intruding. It demonstrates that if those are my greatest goods, I am doomed to be a failure. Suffering has already defeated that goal. To be longsuffering is to reorient myself and strive for a different goal.
I can’t make it better. All I can do is use the event to cultivate good character, or bad character; to be pleasant to everyone or take it out on them. It may not heal me any faster but I’ll be much happier one way, and much more miserable the other. And suddenly I find that I have a real good to aim for. I can tell it’s real because it’s something I need to strive after, not one that will naturally accrue to me as long as I avoid trouble. It’s the opposite of the natural gifts, which I cannot really improve and that will eventually break down regardless. These are things that require active input, and once given, their condition improves rapidly, far more than if I simply left them to their own devices. And moreover, they endure. I will never in this life be free of suffering; as I age I will only suffer more; this is outside my control. The response – to cultivate longsuffering – is within my will to choose, and is something that cannot be taken from me. As a goal in life, it makes much more sense to pursue something that is within my power to pursue, even if I am well off the pace.
October 12, 2011
almighty dollah, culture, happenings, politics, welcome to the working week 1 Comment
For a few weeks now, folks have been occupying Wall Street, and I’ve been doing my darndest to ignore the whole pathetic spectacle. I actually have a day job, and wish to keep it, as there has been a lot of fat-trimming. Besides, I thought that the high percentage of hipsters and wannabes and hangers-on would eventually cause it all to collapse under the weight of its own absurdity: “I was fighting the Man before it was cool. Once we started getting on TV it became waaaaay too commercial.”
In a way, that would have been a more authentic result for a specifically “down-with-corporate-people” movement. What we have now has bent irony back on itself in a manner more Star Trek than Starbucks:
It’s a Möbius strip of lunacy. Trying to grab one end of it and work it out to a conclusion seemed like a trap. That was before the movement spread to “thousands of countries,” according to multi-millionaire corporate employee Diane Sawyer. I can’t fault the math, since a few thousand agitators (ranks swelled by professional protestors recruited and paid for the occasion) are calling themselves “The 99%.” Meanwhile, others have taken to calling themselves the 53% – as in, the estimated percentage of people who actually pay into the government’s coffers through taxes on their income.
One of these numbers is much smaller than claimed. To slather another thick goopy layer of irony on, the country would be healthier if that 53% were larger – a taxpayer is someone who is earning a living and thus not whinging on their blog about having no living to earn. The 99%, however, want that 1% – the top earners in the country – to relieve them of the burden of ever moving from the 99% to the 53%.
How did it get to this?
October 4, 2011
made of awesome, pictures, sadness Comments Off
I’m taking a break from being angsty today.
©2011 Barcroft Media; click for source article
Dear Tara, shown above, is one of the nearly 100 dogs who worked tirelessly amid the rubble of the Pentagon and World Trade Center, attempting to retrieve survivors, and finding only more vicitms. Dutch photographer Charlotte Dumas travelled to take portraits of these brave dogs to commemorate their role in the recovery efforts.
“The dogs are now old and they will soon pass away. Even during the time it has taken since my first work on the ‘Retrieved’ portraits to now, three of the final 15 have died,” said Charlotte. “These portraits are about how time passes, and how these dogs and their portraits are offering us a way to deal with the things that happened as well as relying on them for comfort.”
And they do it for the love of their handlers and owners. What surprises isn’t just that so many of them followed their masters without hesitation, but that many of our own unassuming pooches have similarly-loyal hearts. Hug yours if you got one… or a neighbor’s.
(via Ace)
What'd they say?