Praising Dr. Dean

Dr. Potomac must thank the Ombudsman for raising the important point of Dr. Howard Dean, erstwhile presidential candidate and governor of Vermont, and soon to be Chairman of the oldest political party in human history. The reason for Dr. Potomac's silence on this topic is simply that he is of two minds.

In one mind, he's sees the logic of it perfectly. Dean is the closest thing that exists to a genuine populist figure in the Democratic Party -- if one can imagine a a popular base made up entirely of the academic, environmental and feminist elites of the country. He was able to raise $40 million dollars for his presidential bid (not since John Connally has so much political money been spent to so little political effect) through innovative use of Web-based campaigning. That is the kind of political entrepreneurship that has been entirely missing among the Democrats for 30 years or so and which was starkly missing in the John Kerry campaign. (John Kerry, true to his parsimonious New England heritage, managed to save $9 million of the funds he raised, and boy does he has some 'splainin to do.) From the rank-in-file standpoint, Howard Dean might not be a good candidate but he could very well be an excellent chairman.

The above explanation assumes, of course, that the Democratic party is still on the rails of reason. A second, more plausible, explanation is that they really are just batty. Dean, as he did on the campaign trail, is the chairman of those reduced to spittle-flecked rage by the Bush presidency. Peter Beinart's call to purge the Dean/Michael Moore wing of the party, brings to mind the famous Leninist formulation, "Kto, kovo?" Translated into our context this means roughly, "Just who's going to purge whom around here?" The reason Dean has waltzed into the chairmanship is that the Deniacs are the permanent Democratic party as opposed to the Democratic party that assembles quadrenially in the cold, Iowa night to launch a frontrunner. One expects the owner to mind the store. It is Howard Dean's party. Everyone else just has to live in it.

From the Far Abroad

Have we callooed and callayed about The Diplomad, yet? Certainly the Style Editor, Dr. Potomac and the Ombudsman, in our various run-in's around and about Our Nation's Capital, have chortled fiendishly as we recall what this underground network of Foreign Service diplomats have posted on their Most Excellent Blog.

But really, they go from strength to strength.

First there was their wonderful neologism of "High Priest Vulture Elite", something the Style Editor much enjoyed, given her frequent contact with the HPVE in her day job.

Then there was yesterday's post on "Comma-ism", which synced so well with the thoughts of our Dr. Potomac. Allow me to insert an extract:

There is one group of singularly anti-American types who just have had the hardest time imaginable praising the events of January 30. Who are these foul anti-Americans? Has The Diplomad taught you nothing? Why the leaders of the Democratic Party of the USA, of course! The party that has become the party of the Comma-ists. You know what we mean: the types who must always insert a comma after a ritual throw-away phrase. For example: “Of course the terrorist attacks of 9/11 were horrible [Here it comes! Listen for it!] [COMMA] but US policy in the Middle East . . ." “Of course the Iraqi elections were a good thing [COMMA] but they will not resolve the serious issue of severe income inequality in East St. Louis, or the growing gender disparity in the granting of scholarships to welding schools . . .”

And today we have "Supergeritolman vs Staypuffedmarshmellowbeings: Castro Creams the EU".

We read:

Well, dear readers, guess what? El Comandante apparently has the magic diplomatic formula for dealing with the EU -- we hope to see this formula taught at the US Foreign Service Institute. It seems that when dealing with the EU, it's best to be highly insincere, in other words tell them whatever they want to hear; then make them beg to give you money; take the money; then go back on whatever nonsense you told them originally; then insult them without mercy in the most vile language you can utter; and they'll come running back with even more to give you. You don't believe The Diplomad? You say no organization or group of countries would tolerate such behavior? Oh, pititful fools! Has The Diplomad taught you nothing? We're talking about the EU, for Heaven's sake!

Well, the Ombudsman finds no surprise whatsoever within his cerebral cortex at this. Nor is he surprised at the following:

The EU, also at the urging of Spain's government "recommended" that European embassies in Havana invite neither dissidents nor Cuban officials to its national day receptions. Well, fortunately, it seems not all the Europeans are going to buy off on that recommendation: so far, at least, Netherlands, Poland, Czech Republic and Slovakia have indicated that they will continue to invite and receive dissidents.

This is indeed a cruel, dark world, where the Ombudsman cannot be surprised by such foul EU cravenness. But there is a glimmer of hope, when nations who used to have to pretend El Commandante was their fraternal comrade in the socialist struggle can tell the EU where to put it.

As the old Scotsman would, after having hoisted the back of his kilt in the general direction of Brussels: "Aye, wheer's your soft power now, you narrow-chested nyaffs, ye

Goodness! It is lovely to see our full slate of bloggers back and blogging strong in February.

Dr. Potomac: How about some inside commentary on the (I think rather laughable) success of Governor Dean's DNC bid? Somehow I don't see Dean Dems taking Mark Shields' advice. And speaking of Dean, secession from his homestate proceeds apace -- Killington, VT is still anxious to become Killington, NH. My favorite quote from a NH rep: "My big fantasy is that New Hampshire state liquor store over there," Currier said. "We could generate a ton of money."

Ombundsman: Where have you been, my dear sir? Can I say D. Phil. yet? And you are right to anticipate my horror at the J. F. Stephen search.

The man who works from himself outwards, whose conduct is governed by ordinary motives, and who acts with a view to his own advantage and the advantage of those who are connected with himself in definite, assignable ways, produces in the ordinary course of things much more happiness to others (if that is the great object of life) than a moral Don Quixote who is always liable to sacrifice himself and his neighbours. When you have to deal with a man who expects pay and allowances, and is willing to give a fair day's work for it as long as the arrangement suits him, you know where you are. Deal with such a man fairly and in particular cases, if he is a man of spirit and courage, he will deal with you not only fairly but generously. Earn his gratitude by kindness and justice, and he will in many cases give you what no money could buy or pay for. On the other hand, a man who has a disinterested love for the human race--that is to say, who has got a fixed idea about some way of providing for the management of the concerns of mankind--is an unaccountable person with whom it is difficult to deal upon any well known and recognized principles, and who is capable of making his love for men in general the ground of all sorts of violence against men in particular.

Insane, my foot.

Style Editor: Your religious commentary here is most welcome. We have become distinctly popular with Lutheran sites, due in large part to your efforts. I tip my miter and welcome everyone. R.I.P. Pope Clement XIII, who died this day in 1769:

It remains, Venerable Brothers, that We advise you concerning the fortitude and strength of spirit needed to oppose those things which are against the orthodox faith, which harm piety or which damage the integrity of moral living. Let us be strong in the spirit of the Lord, in good judgment, and in courage. We should not be like dumb watchdogs unable to bark, allowing our flocks to fall prey to looting and our sheep to be devoured by every wild animal in the field. Nor should anything deter us from throwing ourselves into battle for the glory of God and for the salvation of souls: "Think of the way he endured such opposition from sinners." If we are afraid of the audacity of worthless men, it affects the strength of the episcopacy and its sublime and divine power to govern the Church. Nor can we Christians endure or exist any longer-if it has come to that-if we become overly frightened by the snares or threats of the damned. Therefore, trusting not in ourselves but in the God who raises the dead to life, we despise human affairs and cry out to the Lord: You are my hope in the day of disaster. Let us never be exhausted in body or in spirit, for we are fellow workers with God. The Lord Jesus is with us always even to the end of time. Therefore let us not be weakened by scandal or persecution, lest we seem ungrateful for God's favor, since his assistance is as strong as His promises are true.

If the Los Angeles Times Says So...

Dr. Potomac wishes to update an undocumented assertion he made in "The Plantation Strikes Back" relating to the African-American vote in Ohio last November. Nationwide, the President received 11 percent of the African-American vote. In Ohio, according to this morning's Los Angeles Times, George W. Bush received 16 percent of the African-American vote which was quite possibly the difference between winning outright and getting a recount in your Christmas stocking.

Candlemas

It was on Candlemas Day,
And all in the morning,
They visited the Temple
With our heavenly King.

And was not this a joyful thing?
And sweet Jesus they called him by name.
-All in The Morning (Trad. Carol from Derbyshire, England)

Judging from decorating patterns and tree disposal habits, a great debate permeates modern American society: when does Christmas end? Some people opt for Dec. 26; still others are decorating their now brown wreaths with hearts on St Valentine’s Day.

Before we giggle too much at this however, we should consider that the various branches of Christianity do not speak with one voice on the Christian year either. Nowadays liturgical Protestants end Christmas on Ephiphany. Roman Catholics consider the Monday after the Baptism of Our Lord the end of Christmas. The Orthodox also consider the Baptism of Jesus, the Theophany, the end of Christmas, but when the date is depends on whether they’re sticking to their guns on that Julian calendar issue. Non-liturgical Protestants could care less, after all some might not even celebrate Christmas in the first place.

The pattern has been fluid, however--no matter what the Catholics might tell you--because it was not unusual in the Medieval and post Medieval church for the people to consider today, Candlemas Day, the official end of Christmas.

What is Candlemas? It is the celebration of the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple. Jewish law commanded that first born sons be consecrated to God in the Temple. The Eastern Church generally continues to consider Candlemas a celebration of Jesus. (There are some exceptions.) The Western church however, gradually made it a day commemorating Mary, because under Jewish law a woman was considered unclean after she gave birth. 40 days after the birth of a son (80 if it was a daughter) she was to present herself in the temple and to present a sacrifice for her purification, a lamb for the burnt offering and a dove or young pigeon for the sin offering. If the woman was poor she could offer two doves or pigeons instead. Candlemas, then, was Mary's purification day.

While fulfilling their duties in the Temple, the Holy Family encountered two remarkable people, Simeon and Anna. Both were prophets and both upon seeing Jesus spoke of him as the redemption of Israel. Simeon, who had been promised by God that he would not die until he has seen the Messiah, had particularly moving words that are often incorporated into liturgies as the Nunc dimittis: “ O Lord, now let your servant depart in peace according to Thy Word. For mine eyes have seen Thy Salvation, which Thou hast prepared before the face of all peoples, a light to lighten the Gentiles and the Glory of Thy people Israel."

Candlemas gets its name from procession of candles into the church at the beginning of the service accompanied by the singing of the Nunc dimittis. The procession signifies the entry of the Light of the World into the Temple. In the eleventh century of so the custom was added that people would bring the candles they intend to use throughout the year to be blessed by the priest.

As well as some religious sources, some secular sources also assert that Candlemas is the end of Christmas, most famously Robert Herrick’s poem “Candlemas Eve", a sort of guide for the liturgical decorator. And for the liturgical gastronome, crepes are de riguer eating on Candlemas.

So, you, yes you with the brown wreaths and tree teetering on the edge of spontaneous combustion, go ahead and take them down.

As the Ombudsman here at Doctor Curmudgeon & Co., I believe it's time for a little tidying-up around the joint.

This occurred to me when I was viewing our "referrals", and noted that one Gentle Reader had found Doctor Curmudgeon & Co. by typing into Google the following words: "James Fitzjames Stephen Insane".

[Hushed, shocked intake of breath. Straightening of the back.]

This is not the sort of Google search regarding the estimable Mr. Stephen with which any of us here at Doctor Curmudgeon & Co.--those of us who have actually read his work--would care to associate ourselves. Certainly not the Doc, who has been known to give out James Fitzjames Stephen's treatises for Christmas, Yom Kippur, Bar Mitzvahs, Pentecost, Flag Day, and any other holiday that suggests itself to his veritably Stephenesque mind.

Let that be noted for the record.

Funny thing, but just the other day some nut by the name of "Bill Moyers" (imagine Homer Simpson air quotes there, please) wrote a column in the Minneapolis Star-Tribune. Believe it or not, this "Bill Moyers" was talking about at least three of us here at Dr. Curmudgeon & Co.

Wuh? No, no, not directly. But he was attacking--bravely attacking!--right wing Protestant Fundamentalist Nutjobs. And given that his net is very, very big, at least three of us fit into it. The Doc himself, as is well-known, falls into the category of right wing Roman Catholic Traditionalist Nutjobs. He has to put up with Garry Wills. That's enough work of anyone, OK? So leave him out of this.

Anyway, this "Bill Moyers" claims to be quite the expert on right wing Protestant Fundamentalist Nutjobs, because he was apparently a Baptist preacher for six months before he became, in turns, a PR Hack, Presidential Attack Dog, Acolyte Journalist, Seeker of Bliss, and...when the hell did this happen...Courageous Repository of Solomonic Wisdom for our Age.

Well, he's certainly four of those things.

Anyway, he starts out this way:

One of the biggest changes in politics in my lifetime is that the delusional is no longer marginal. It has come in from the fringe, to sit in the seat of power in the Oval Office and in Congress. For the first time in our history, ideology and theology hold a monopoly of power in Washington.

Well, sure. Glad to know you're not going to sugar coat it there, "Bill". Thanks for setting things up to allow for a reasonable, balanced, Solomonic exchange of opinions. No one out here but us Delusionals.

Frankly, the Ombudsman does not have time to Fisk all of this. The Ombudsman, he is the man of much business, as our dear friend the super fantastic Manolo would say. There are other things of greater concern to the Ombudsman, like the heat of his coffee, the state of the weather, or the strange thing on the sole of his Allan Edmonds cap-toe loafer, than the "musings" of the "Bill Moyers".

So it's a good thing that James Lileks is out there! Strangely enough, he too receives a salary from the Star-Tribune. [Ed.-- Perhaps they've forgotten about him?] But on his own blog, James has this (among many other things) to say:


"Sunday was the day when Americans were watching the Iraqi election, of course. What do you think the Strib’s editorial page had for this weighty day? Well, a lengthy editorial on Ethanol, for those who rise Sunday morn with a healthy appetite for flapjacks, sausages, orange juice and 2000 words on corn subsidies. ('Bold gesture, missed options.' Was ever a more perfect headline for an editorial ever printed?) But the main page had this at the top:

'For the first time in our history, ideology and theology hold a monopoly of power. What that means for the environment is frightening.'

Well, it depends on your perspective. We all remember how 270,000 people were killed in a day when the environment demonstrated that it had a monopoly of power over plate tectonics.

Below the words, a picture of cracked parched earth, which had once no doubt been green & verdant farmland before the Right Rev. Bush got out his joystick and sent his 900 foot tall Jesus robot to blast the crops with his death-beam laser eyes.

Did I mention that the shadow of a cross falls across the parched land?

You look down the page to see what this might be titled – Meek gesture, seized options? Bold & spicy options, savory gestures? Get this:

THERE IS NO TOMORROW.

We’re on a roll! Ecological catastrophe brought on by 'ideology and theology,' with another dull DONG of the catastrophe bell that’s been tolling ever since the Indian cried a famous lone tear over phosphates in the laundry soap. Then comes the cherry on the sundae:

'By Bill Moyers.'

All rise..."


It continues from there. Read, as they like to say in the blogosphere, the whole thing.

That 900 foot Jesus robot sounds cool. Maybe Dr. Potomac could get us one. Can we use it to scare Teddy Kennedy sober?

No, probably need the Second Coming for that job.

Rice 2008

At least two of us--that would be the Ombudsman and the Style Editor--have agreed that if Condi did run for President in 2008, we would drop whatever we are doing and run off to help the campaign. Quite frankly, December 2007 in New Hampshire looks like a good deal, as far as we are concerned, as long as we can do advance work for Madame Secretary.

It's hard to imagine that this is going to happen, but you can dream...which is just what Draft Condi is doing. Here are some of my favorite reasons for President Rice:

5. ...the first President who has proclaimed herself "a Second Amendment absolutist," repudiating everything including registration. Her father didn't hunt ducks -- he hunted Klansmen. (No proof that he got one, but Kerry never proved he got that duck, either).

6. She would also be the first unmarried President in over a century. All the supermarket mags could speculate as to whom she's dating now. (Okay, they could do it with Bill Clinton, too, but this would have a lot more decorum). Stolen glances at Prince Charles? Why did she appoint a 27 year old as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff? Paparazzi could pursue her as she sneaked away with a Marine guard. The Secret Service could detain the paparazi and "accidentally" drop them off the 14th Street Bridge. This gets better by the minute.

7. If she does get married, we'll have to figure out what the First Man of the U.S. does. Gets up on the White House roof to adjust the antenna? Trims the grass? Serves as the representative to NASCAR? (Takes out the garbage is a given).

8. Since the election of 2008 would end with her nomination, she would have no need to barter the usual political favors (this group gets a cabinet official, this donor gets a nice ambassadorship) and could run her Administration as she pleased. (Probably first time that's happened since the election of 1796). The British might actually get a competent ambassador for once. The Democrats would also benefit, since they would save the expenses of a convention, campaign, and inauguration.

You might also check out Rice 2008--which is, I hasten to add, highly unofficial.

The Plantation Strikes Back

Dr. Potomac detects new signs of unease, jumpiness and anxiety among the Democrats. House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi (is there a more felicitous turn of phrase in the American political lexicon?) announced last week the formation of a taskforce to help Democrats learn how to communicate with the religious folk of the nation’s vast, red middle. And she chose to lead this effort –wait for it – Rep. Jim Clyburn. Now, Congressman Clyburn, is no doubt a very decent fellow. It is worth asking, however, if Clyburn is the answer, what was the question?

A la Karnac the Magnificent, Dr. Potomac holds the envelope to his forehead and sees..."How do we stop the seepage of older, culturally conservative African-Americans away from the Democratic party?" It has been noted that African-American voters converting to the GOP was an important factor in Ohio, the swingiest of swing states last year, where the President exceeded his already very respectable showing among African-Americans nationwide. Cultural questions are major factors here, with African-American pastors objecting strenuously to the gay marriage lobby’s efforts to coopt the African-American struggle for civil rights. People who faced down Bull Conner and were thrown out of segregated luncheon counters tend to be a little cranky with college-educated, dual-income same-sex yuppies drowning their resentments in double-skim lattes at the corner Starbucks. (Dr. Potomac further suspects that African-Americans will resist any effort to dilute the authority of their churches and pastors, long the only institutions and leaders that were fully “owned” by the community. As the sign on the African-American church in my neighborhood used to say -- before the neighborhood Blues objected and had the sign dismantled and removed over the pastor's objection -- “God created Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve.”)

One other factor may be at play here, and that’s the President's effort to open federal grant programs to faith-based and community organizations. After four years, increasing amounts of federal social services grant dollars are flowing into programs and projects directed toward small ministries many of which are headed by African-American clergy and community leaders. These organizations are gradually coming to understand the President really means it when he says he wants to help and wants to do it in a way that doesn't put their churches under a federal supervisor. Trust is slowly, incrementally being built between two social strata that haven't found much common cause to make over the past 40 years or so.

Sudden Thought

Have any of the libs come out with a storyline like, "Of course they voted in droves.  Iraq has a history of compulsory elections and many feared retribution from the provisional government or the Americans"??? 

You heard it here first:  someone with a serious case of Oppositionitis will do so before the week is out.

Oppositionitis: The Compassionate View of a Former Sufferer

First the election, then the inaugural festivities.  Dr. Potomac finally feels in fit enough shape to ply the blogging trade once again. 

He makes just one observation:  the Democrats have finally entered the terminal phase of oppositionitis, a disease with which he is directly and personally familiar.  It goes something like this:  you belong to a political party that has been consigned to a marginal position for a prolonged period.  In Dr. Potomac's case it was, how the Manolo would say, the Adminstration of the Clinton.  One is so deeply disturbed by the continuous flow of disagreeable policy decisions (say, mandatory child safety seats for everyone under the age of 23) that a certain unhinging occurs.  The next Democratic policy recommendation could be sainthood for Reagan or a commemorative resolution declaring apple pie delicious or, to update the phenomenon, a presidential address declaring that freedom is the natural condition of man.  Couldn't make the slightest difference what the proposal is, the other guy made it up and it is simply and genetically WRONG and requires a hyperbolic denunciation.  (Note:  Barbara Boxer [Empty Suit, CA] is the Typhoid Mary of Democratic oppositionitis.  When Saturday Night Live starts ridiculing a Democrat, he or she should know she's in deep trouble.)

Oppositionitis is an ugly and, worse, self-perpetuating problem.  It leads one to say patently absurd things and cause the public to look away in embarrassment.  It is extremism in 40-point font.  President Bush presses on with democracy for Iraq with what looks like rather fulsome support of the overwhelming majority of Iraqi citizens:  wrong.  Nominates the superb Condoleeza Rice for Secretary of State:  wrong.  Tries to pull the emergency brake on the upcoming Social Security trainwreck:  wrong.  Suggests that poor Americans might be better off owning rather than renting the American dream:  wrong.  Wrong, wrong, wrong, it has to be wrong because...George Bush said it.

The current state of Democratic politics is Newt Gingrich post-government shutdown.  Bill Clinton's intricate, lying presidency drove the GOP into advanced oppositionitis and the public consigned the Republican majority in Congress to the loony bin.  And now, dear, dear, Democrats, you've contracted the same disabling disease.  Let's assume for the sake of argument that George Bush is a drooling idiot.  Karl Rove, by consensus, is still the all-knowing, all-seeing superintendent of the asylum and not a word passes out of POTUS' mouth without having been thoroughly focus-grouped for maximum effect.  Even under their own Bush-is-an-idiot construct, what are the odds that the Democrats can oppose EVERYTHING without making a political error on enough of these items to damage themselves seriously?  Answer:  not good.  In fact, it probably means that GWB will slowly bury the opposition under a trickle of popular, common sense policy changes that are gradually reshaping American society.

Oppositionitis.  You heard it hear first.  It needs a disease group to advocate for research funding

So the great Dr. Curmudgeon Super Bowl War began. For two weeks the Style Editor and the Ombudsman will be locked in an epic struggle for football bragging rights with Doc and the Scooter. As much as it pains me to take a position against the Scooter, I am here to tell him crawl into the farthest corner of the house right now, little doggie, before the big, bad Eagles get you.

And I have this to say to the Doc, where's your all civilizing influence of classical music now?

P-A-T-S...Pats, Pats, Pats!

Fly, Eagles, Fly!

Hats off to the oldest altar boy in Britain and perhaps the world. He's been serving for 82 of his 89 years. Amazing.

Interesting yet unsurprising article in the Leader today. A Rochester, NH Espiscopal parish closes its doors after most of its parishoners leave en masse. Apparently the exodus has been going on for years. First they lost people because the Book of Common Prayer was changed. Then they lost more because of the introduction of female priests. Now the final nail in the coffin came with the Bishop Robinson consecration. Funny how we've all been told that these three things are signs of inclusion, positive change, and making the church relevant to modern life. Yet with "liberalization" entire clumps of people are alienated and find other churches. Midwest Conservative Journal is also on the case.

Interesting note via Relapsed Catholic ( via Metaphilm and the New York Times) about the odd but promising popularity of G. K. Chesterton with young people. Apparently the Chesterton show on EWTN, the Catholic cable station, is one of their big hits with kids. I dearly hope it is true.

I love (read: loathe) the language used in this story. Apparently one British school is abolishing homework for its 12 year old students.

Dr Hazlewood says he wants to make schooling more "relevant to life in the 21st century".

He wants to "get away from the imposition of homework, a product of 20th century education" and allow children to embrace their 21st century "learning journey".

Weeeeeeee! I'm on a learning journey!

They've also obliterated "subject learning" for something called "crosscurricular subjects."

But this one is the clincher:

Dr Hazlewood's radical approach is based on a scheme devised by the Royal Society of Arts (RSA), which rejects the notion that a teacher's job is to transmit a body of knowledge to pupils.

Teachers are not there to transmit knowledge, only to facilitate the students on their learning journey. Wake me up. I'm in a nightmare.

In other news, the inmates are now in charge of the asylum, and the foxes have taken over the hen house.

In today's Boston Globe, Matthew Gilbert complains that the Fox TV show "American Idol," which auditions thousands of people to become the next big pop singer, is cruel and exploitative. I suppose by answering this charge, and denying it to be true, I am admitting that I actually watch the show. But so be it. I have.

Says Gilbert:

As the judges laugh in the faces of vulnerable kids with clumped hair and pockmarked skin, they re-create the "Carrie"-esque nightmare of every freshman geek ever accused of having cooties. They are the rich and famous shaking their heads over the great unwashed, the haves chuckling about the have-nots.

But the "cooties" were imaginary; these people really have zero singing talent. They may be "have-nots," but that lack was delivered to them by nature, not by the "haves" who cruelly took it away from them.

I'm not sure "American Idol" can take responsibility for every dreamer who flocks to its cattle calls like pilgrims on a religious trek. And, in our high-gloss TV atmosphere, there is something quite welcome about Cowell's scathing honesty, even if the truth can hurt. But setting up clueless and desperate people for public shaming isn't the truth; it's exploitation. There's a line between taking cruel advantage of someone's feeble delusion and enjoying their foibles; in some cases, it's a fine line, but one that's clear to anyone with a heart.

If these thousands of contestants, who have watched the show for three years and clearly understand what happens, sign up for this task, how can we claim they are being exploited? Doesn't exploitation imply lack of knowledge or lack of alternatives? These people are willing customers, people often so self-deluded by confidence in their singing abilities (who are these tone-deaf friends and family who say they have talent?), that they are willing to take the risk of public humiliation to confirm it. When that dream pops with a Simon Cowell dismissal, you can't help but think, "they asked for it."

Is it heartless? I guess that depends how you view pretentious people. Americans tend to hate pretention, thinking you are something you are not and "taking on airs." This is probably why Idol is so popular. What's the difference between someone who thinks themselves superior because of birth, wealth, or lineage, and someone who thinks themselves supremely talented, uniquely gifted above the riff-raff? Both, when taken past their normal limits, strike most as unbecoming. Pride is excusable when combined with a degree of humility, thankfulness, and context. But when it becomes hubris and, when critiqued before the crowd, shown to be nonsense, it falls to the ground.

We shouldn't let our embarrassing national obesession with "self-esteem" get in the way of correcting pretention and false hope. Are they poor saps who deserve our pity (would they want that?), or poor saps who deserve a bracing splash of cold water to snap them out of their hubris. In my view, they need the splash: You are fooling yourself, you have no talent, and the longer you delude yourself the more painful the unfulfilled dreams will become. Thought of this way, the Cowell denial is an act of charity more than cruelty. Hard landings wake people up.

Sometimes.

Super Fantastic

Some have described the Manolo as an "an Italian flavored Damon Runyon of the fashion world,", or to use the Manolo's own idiom, the Manolo, he is super fantastic.

Now this is good social policy: Classical music is being piped into London Underground stations, and "yobbish behavior" has decreased by a third. Now correlation does not equal casuation, but I say push ahead and pipe it into the whole system. It is a civilizing enterprise.

But apparently it only plays at the ticket counters and waiting rooms, not the platforms. Says one LU manager, "We won't be linking this to platform speakers though - that's a captive audience and not everyone likes classical music."

To which I reply, too damn bad. Play it anyway.

This story is fantastic: In 1914, a boy throws a tennis ball off the walls of Lincoln Cathedral and it sticks in a crevice. It is still there, and his family visits the Cathedral every year to point it out. Now, worried that it will be dislodged by cleaners, they'd like it back. The ball (which was completely unnoticed by Cathedral keepers) may be one of the oldest tennis balls in the UK.

Since when is donning a particular outfit at a fancy dress party (read: costume party) equated with actually advocating the ideas or lifestyle of the outfit? So if I wear a Viking costume, I am advocating the pillaging of monastaries in villages around the North Sea? If I dress as Henry VIII, I am advocating the "stripping of the altars" (with apologies to the Style Editor, our very own Henry VIII)? If I dress as Louis XIV, I am an advocate of divine right monarchy? Something tells me the "Harry as Nazi" controversy has little to do with the costume, and much to do with dislike of the British monarchy. As Blithering Bunny rightly adds: Wear a Che T-shirt and you're cool. Wear a Hitler T-shirt and you're a fascist.

One to make the eyes roll: California 8th graders are told strip-tease is a great career option.

Hah! And Hah! again! The Ombudsman has awakened from a long winter's nap to find that he rocks!




Edward IV
You are loyal and down to earth. More than that, you are a hard-headed realist. You take the facts, and you go with them. You don't try to change what is, just like Edward IV, who never lost a battle, even when greatly outnumbered. You excel on your own mind and on your own heart. Keep your level head, and keep being aware. You rock!

Thank you, thank you, thank you verra much.

The Style Editor is distressed to learn she is Henry VIII. This is obviously a horrible and inaccurate quiz that discriminates against Protestants who think Tombstone is a rotten movie.

And really the monarchs they choose: Richard I, Edward IV, Henry VIII, Francis I, and Charles V. This is all the best they could do? I wouldn't take any of them home to meet the parents. They couldn't find any better ones?

At any rate as Henry VIII (I am, I am):



Henry VIII


You are impuslive (sic), temperamental, and autocratic. You make strong decisions based on your gut reactions. You are true to you friends, but if they betray you in the slightest way, then they're OUT. You like being in a monogamous relationship, but if you feel betrayed, you will tear apart the peson (sic) that hurt you. You are brilliant! But impulsive. Work on the impulsive streak, and continue being brilliant!

As evidence of my brilliance, I know how to use Spell Check. (Yes, yes, I'm also petty, but I did write a few lovely tunes.)

Have you taken the What Monarch are you quiz? Well, apparently I am King Charles V:

You are a mastermind. Sinister? No. Disconnected from humanity at times? Occasionally. But, you look out for you and yours by making alliances and by keeping quiet and striking when it's time. Try and be more humane. Don't dumb yourself down, but be sure and employ the empathy emotion more often so that you don't lose touch.

Humane? Empathy? Why don't you buzz off.

Lovely stinging article about "dressing down" in the latest Spectator. Makes me feel a bit guilty for even owning a pair of jeans and polo shirts.

There used to be such a thing as a sense of occasion, and those participating in the occasion — whether it be a night at the opera or an invitation to dinner or to a religious ceremony — would avoid insulting their hosts or diminishing the event itself by not turning up for it dressed as if for an afternoon in the garden or at the dog track. That now seems to have gone by the board. Formality at recreational occasions is regarded as utterly absurd; and, indeed, conservatism of dress in the workplace is now increasingly frowned upon, as indicating a range of unsavoury attitudes including a hidebound mentality, political incorrectness and class-consciousness.

If it means I'll be frowned upon, then I'll definitely begin dressing up. Life's all about making the right enemies, isn't it?

Because our eyes occasionally hop to matters across the Pond or perhaps because we're Wodehouse fans, kind readers occasionally designate Dr. Curmudgeon and Company as a "mid Atlantic" blog. We've slipped a bit lately in this rating, so I turn my eye to the other side of the Atlantic and I see not the current Blair/Brown brouhaha, or the sad decline of Marks and Spencer, but..yes.. the Eglu.

In France, they wanted a chicken in every pot. In England, they want a chicken in every yard. But chicken housing has gotten very high tech these days. The Eglu is the iMac of chicken housing. Colorful, stylish and modular, it makes one think well of chickens, which is a new experience for Style Editor who has always viewed chickens as utilitarian embodiments of evil.

I urge The Countryside Alliance to push along the Eglu in any way they can. The more chickens kept in suburban yards, the more chickens killed by foxes, the more people realize perhaps that foxes are in fact a problem. It's hard for an eight year old to love a fox when it has killed Mrs. Clucky.

And for those of us over here, do not despair. The Eglu is coming to America.

Suffering through Living? Avoid the Netherlands

Weblog over at Christianity Today has a chilling story on the whacked out progress of euthanasia in the Netherlands. Besides the mere expected monumental abuses, like euthanizing infants, the Dutch have also decided that:

"Doctors can help patients who ask for help to die even though they may not be ill but 'suffering through living,' concludes a three year inquiry commissioned by the Royal Dutch Medical Association," the British Medical Journal reports today.


The report comes a year after physician Philip Sutorius had his criminal conviction appeal rejected by the Dutch Supreme Court. In 1998 Sutorius performed an "assisted suicide" on politician Edward Brongersma, who had no major disease other than feeling his existence was "pointless and empty." Being "tired of life" is no grounds for death, Dutch courts said, but Sutorius was not punished since he showed "concern for his patient."


The current situation, then, is murky. The Dutch Supreme Court ruled in 2002 that patients must have a "classifiable physical or mental condition" to be killed, but the country's euthanasia law only says the person must be "suffering hopelessly and unbearably."


Jos Dijkhuis, who led the Royal Dutch Medical Association inquiry, says patients merely "tired of life" shouldn't be granted physician-assisted suicide, but that doctors alone should be allowed to decide whether patients' "suffering through living" is severe enough for death.

As Weblog wittily notes: Slippery-slope arguments are often faulty, but the Royal Dutch Medical Association seems to be going out of its way to demonstrate that such slopes really do exist.

What will pose a particular morbid fascination for the Style Editor is to see how this all goes down in this era of separate realities/truths. Having lost any belief in or adherence to an absolute truth, the case will soon arise when a doctor sees a patient as “suffering through living” but the patient doesn’t.

Well, such would have been interesting case if the Dutch Supreme Court were a court of law rather than a court of feeling. After all I’m sure the murdering doctor will have shown “concern” for the patient, if only in the witness box, which seems to be the only factor about which the Dutch Supreme Court really cares. Yes indeed, if you care that what ever you do must be good, because the heart of course can never lie. Strewth. And people thought the Twinkie defense was an all time low in defense strategies.

I counsel all Dr. Curmudgeon readers who happen to be visiting the Netherlands to cast off their usual curmudgeonly aspect and to appear downright jovial lest someone decide you're suffering through living.

But before we become too cocky about the Dutch, 80% of the people in Vermont think euthanasia is just peachy too.

I thank the Style Editor profusely for her consistent posting this last month. Traveling about western New York and New Hampshire, I did not have easy access to a computer.

Check out this scathing review, complete with charges of plagiarism, of the latest Abe Lincoln book. Seems our departed President was not the homosexual some had hoped. Then again, as I said in detail a couple of years ago, neither was his illustrious and oft' abused predecessor.

Anglican Archbishop of Canterbury William Laud was beheaded on this day in 1645. I am sure the Society of King Charles the Martyr will be having a service somewhere.

Also on this day in 1776, Thomas Paine's screed Common Sense was first published, one of the more ironic titles of a book.

Happy Birthday Lord Acton, born on this day in 1834.

Surf's Up at Surf Aid

I haven't said anything about the tsunami because what really can I say beyond the obvious? But I do want to give a shoutout to a fantastic organization, Surf Aid . Founded by surfers to give back to the islands where they find so much pleasure, for the past several years Surf Aid has been working in the Mentawai Islands to better the health of the islanders. The Style Editor has had the pleasure of having some communication with the group in her professional capacity, and although I don't agree with all of their decisions (Stop faffing around, lads, and add IRS with DDT to your malaria control efforts instanter. Look! Even the New York Times thinks you should! ), I have been impressed with their dedication and ground operation. Surf Aid is now assisting with relief efforts on Nias and is doing a bang up job keeping people informed about what they are doing. (I can think of SEVERAL organizations that should learn from Surf Aid's excellent accountability measures. Hello, UN, are you paying attention? Hello?) Although it is highly unlikely that the Style Editor would ever be seen attempting to balance on a fiberglass board or would ever be able to properly use the word "stoked" in a sentence, her tsunami donations have gone to Surf Aid, because if Surf Aid gets extra money, I know it won't be wasted. Surf Aid. It's not just for surfers anymore.

January 6, The Feast of the Epiphany

The Wisemen have finally made it, and as a local Anglo-Catholic rector puts it, "the reality of the Incarnation blossoms into the staggering Truth that this is for everyone, including you and me! "

So, fellow goyim, celebrate the Epiphany (the "to make known") by munching on some Galette des Rois while grooving to the jaunty Provencal number The March of the 3 Kings (La Marche des Rois Mages)

In the morn we met the proud array
Of three great kings, the mighty wise men,
In the morn we met the proud array
Of three great kings upon the broad highway.
The men-at-arms with the youths and pages,
In jewelled robes they followed the sages,
And we were askèd to join with them
To find the Holy Child in Bethlehem.


Banners flew, outstanding in the breeze,
The trumpets blew, the drums were beating,
Banners flew, outstanding in the breeze,
The village people fell upon their knees.
And over them in heav'nly glory
Led on the star with its beaming light holy,
And we were askèd to join with them
To find the Holy Child in Bethlehem.

January 5th, The Twelfth Day of Christmas (Twelfth Night)

PLEASE TO SEE THE KING

Joy, health, love, and peace be all here in this place
By your leave, we will sing concerning our King

Our King is well dressed, in silks of the best
In ribbons so rare, no king can compare

We have traveled many miles, over hedges and stiles
In search of our King, unto you we bring

Old Christmas is past, Twelfth Night is the last
And we bid you adieu, great joy to the new

Ah Twelfth Night, the end of Christmas and a wild and rollocking time it used to be too. There's no reason why it still shouldn't be: party down and sing all your favorite Christmas carols!

January 4, The 11th day of Christmas

The wisemen are closing in, so we're going to take a peak at their progress with the carol, "King Herod and the Cock". It apparently hails from the West Midlands our thereabouts according to a West Midlands carol site, but the words are also found in the longer "Carnal and the Crane".

There was a star in David's land,
In David's land appeared,
And in King Herod's chamber
So bright it did shine there.


The wise men they soon spied it
And told the king anigh,
That a Prince's Babe was born that night
No king shall e'er destroy.


If this be the truth, King Herod said,
That thou hast told to me,
The roasted cock that lies in the dish
Shall crow full senses three.


Oh, the cock soon thrusten'd and feather'd well
By the works of God's own hand,
And he did crow full senses three
In the dish where he did stand.

January 3, The 10th Day of Christmas

Okay so yesterday's selection was a hymn and not a carol. Today's selection however is a carol and a rather sprightly one for the leaping lords. It's French, but it's delightful:Il Est Ne, le Divin Enfant. (He is Born, Holy Child Divine). (For those who want to hear the music, the MIDI file at the top of the linked page usually has an approximation of the tune, as much as MIDI can be said to approximate music. )

January 2, The 9th Day of Christmas

It had to happen sometime. As we ease into the New Year, today's featured carol is Martin Luther's great "Von Himmel Hoch da kom ich her", in the Catherine Winkworth translation. And yes, you should sing all 15 verses thank you very much.

January 1, The Circumcision of Our Lord (The Holy Name), New Year's Day

The Ombudsman thinks I need to explain circumcision. You can watch "Meet The Fockers" to get the technical bits, but of course circumcision is more than just that. Circumcision designates a Jewish male as descended from Abraham and his entering in to the original Covenant with God. At this time the child would also receive his name. Although not bound by the law, Christ fulfilled the law and so was circumcised on the eighth day (Luke, ii, 21), and received his name Jesus, meaning "He saves". He was, as St. Paul says, "made under the law", i.e. and submitted to the original Covenant, "that he might redeem them who were under the law: that we might receive the adoption of sons" (Gal., iv, 4, 5). I'm sure there was some medieval carol that covered all this, but I don't know it, so I'm going to choose the beautiful "Lullay my liking, my dear son" because I imagine a baby would need some lulling after being circumcised.

As for New Year's Day, the early church spent a while trying to pin down a date for the New Year. January 1st was the Roman choice for the day as it was the Feast of Janus, the god who looks both ways. The Church disapproved of the immense revelry that traditionally surrounded this day, and for a while attempts were made to celebrate the New Year in Spring, eventually though January 1st won and so...Happy New Year! You can party down with the rousing "Gloucestshire Wassail". or you can solemnly ponder the cycle of the year with the carol "Green Grow'th the Holly". Henry VIII apparently composed the haunting tune, but I try not to hold that against it.

Green Grow'th the Holly

Green grow'th the holly,
So doth the ivy;
Though winter blasts blow ne'er so high,
Green grow'th the holly.

Gay are the flowers,
Hedgerows and ploughlands;
The days grow longer in the sun,
Soft fall the showers.

Full gold the harvest,
Grain for thy labour;
With God must work for daily bread,
Else, man, thou starvest.

Fast fall the shed leaves,
Russet and yellow;
But resting-buds are snug and safe
Where swing the dead leaves.

Green grow'th the holly,
So doth the ivy;
The God of life can never die.
Hope! saith the holly.

A Christmas Carol

At the beginning of the festive season, I had the idea of posting a new carol for each day of Christmas with shout outs of the various feast days throughout the season. But alas I was in the hinterlands of NJ where a glacially slow dial up connection allowed for the thorough wrapping of presents during the lag time, but didn't inspire much posting.

So halfway though the season I present all the catch up section most of which will have to go without explanation except for the 25th.

December 24th, also know as Adam and Eve's Day. It can't be helped. The carol is the impossible to sing, but deeply meaningful, "Adam Lay Ybounden", which neatly lays out what Milton called "the Paradox of the Happy Fall"

Adam Lay Ybounden

Adam lay ybounden, bounden in a bond,
Four thousand winter thoughte he not too long;
And al was for an apple, and apple that he took,
As clerkes finden writen, writen in hire book.
Ne hadde the apple taken been, the apple taken been,
Ne hadde nevere Oure Lady ybeen hevene Queen.
Blessed be the time that apple taken was:
Therfore we mown singen Deo Gratias.


December 25th, Christmas Day. A carol, which really should go on the 24th as well, "Tomorrow Shall Be my Dancing Day". This carol was first published in 1833 but is far older than that. Scholars believe it dates back to the medieval Cornish mystery plays presented during the Christmas season. The tune is lovely but it's the imagery of man as the true and eternally wooed love of Christ that makes this carol.


TOMORROW SHALL BE MY DANCING DAY


Tomorrow shall be my dancing day;
I would my true love did so chance
To see the legend of my play,
To call my true love to my dance;

Chorus
Sing, oh! my love, oh! my love, my love, my love,
This have I done for my true love

Then was I born of a virgin pure,
Of her I took fleshly substance
Thus was I knit to man's nature
To call my true love to my dance. Chorus

In a manger laid, and wrapped I was
So very poor, this was my chance
Betwixt an ox and a silly poor ass
To call my true love to my dance. Chorus

Then afterwards baptized I was;
The Holy Ghost on me did glance,
My Father’s voice heard from above,
To call my true love to my dance. Chorus

Into the desert I was led,
Where I fasted without substance;
The Devil bade me make stones my bread,
To have me break my true love's dance. Chorus

The Jews on me they made great suit,
And with me made great variance,
Because they loved darkness rather than light,
To call my true love to my dance. Chorus

For thirty pence Judas me sold,
His covetousness for to advance:
Mark whom I kiss, the same do hold!
The same is he shall lead the dance. Chorus

Before Pilate the Jews me brought,
Where Barabbas had deliverance;
They scourged me and set me at nought,
Judged me to die to lead the dance. Chorus

Then on the cross hanged I was,
Where a spear my heart did glance;
There issued forth both water and blood,
To call my true love to my dance. Chorus

Then down to hell I took my way
For my true love's deliverance,
And rose again on the third day,
Up to my true love and the dance. Chorus

Then up to heaven I did ascend,
Where now I dwell in sure substance
On the right hand of God, that man
May come unto the general dance. Chorus

December 26th, the Feast of St. Stephen, Deacon and Martyr. You would think the first martyr would have some songs to himself, and so he does in the eponymous named "St Stephen." Two carols however do mention his day peripherally, the well known "Good King Wenceslas" and the lesser known "The Wren Song". In Poland however, Stephen is properly honored with a pastry, Podkovy, which are baked in the shape of horseshoes, because for some reason Stephen has long been viewed as the Patron of horses. (I have to say in all honesty that when I made Podkovy they were a bit disappointing, but I attribute that to the flaws of the baker rather than the recipe. Those interested in the recipe should consult the internet or the Bible of the liturgical baker, Evelyn Birge Vitz's A Continual Feast .

December 27th, the Feast of St. John. To honor the author of the hauntingly beautiful Gospel of Incarnation not a carol for him, but one about his Beloved "Of the Father's Love Begotten" . Many classify this an Advent hymn, but The Lutheran Hymnal places it as a Christmas hymn and who am I to argue with the TLH? Perhaps as you sing this you could accompany it with some St. John's wine. Good for loosening the pipes.

December 28th, The Feast of the Holy Innocents. A reminder that the perfect Christ was born into a fallen world, "Coventry Carol" .

December 29th, the 5th Day of Christmas. As Mary comes to grips with motherhood, the sprightly German carol, "Josef Lieber, Josef Mein." Sing it in English by all means, I do, but it really does sound better auf Deutsch.

December 30th, the 6th Day of Christmas. The delightful “Wexford Carol”, which sounds particularly good when rendered by a bass, but then I am partial to basses.

December 31st, the 7th day of Christmas, St. Sylvester’s Day, and the secular New Year's Eve. Oh what the heck, break out the Welshies, with their impossible language and great musical tradition, and the secular "Nos Galan." We know "Nos Galan" as "Deck the Halls," ("inexplicably still popular” sneers the Oxford Book of Carols), but for the Brythonic Celts among you here are the actual words and a closer translation for the English speakers. (By the way, the fa la la la la bits were supposed to have been played by the harpists answering back to the singers, but as harpists are in short supply these days beyond the "daft and happy hills" of Wales, the nonsense syllables were added to approximate the sound.)

Oer yw'r gwr sy'n methu caru,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Hen fynyddoedd annwyl Cymru,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Iddo ef a'u câr gynhesaf
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Gwyia llawen flwyddyn nesaf,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

I'r helbulus oer yw'r biliau,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Sydd yn dyfod yn y gwyliau,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Gwrando bregeth mewn un pennill,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Byth na waria fwy na'th ennill,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

Oer yw'r eira ar Eryri,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Er fod gwrthban gwlanen arni,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Oer yw'r bobol na ofalan',
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Gwrdd â'i gilydd ar Nos Galan,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

Soon the hoar old year must leave us,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
But the parting must not grieve us
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
When the new year comes tomorrow
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Let him find no trace of sorrow
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

He our pleasures may redouble,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
He may bring us store of trouble,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Hope the best and gaily meet him,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
With a jovial chorus greet him,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

At his birth, he brings us gladness,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Ponder not on future sadness,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Anxious care is now but folly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Fill the mead-cup, hand the holly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
A Happy and Healthy 2005 to you all!

Two articles/essays to make you squirm with anger, but perhaps something constructive will come from them:

Screwing up a New Hampshire Christmas

Screwing up a whole host of Christmas' around America

And we are bracing for our first "lake effect snows" today. We'll be under 10-16 inches of the white stuff by tomorrow, they say. The fair Quaker of Amesbury will get us into the spirit of the thing:

The sun that brief December day
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.
Slow tracing down the thickening sky
Its mute and ominous prophecy,
A portent seeming less than threat,
It sank from sight before it set.
A chill no coat, however stout,
Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,
A hard, dull bitterness of cold,
That checked, mid-vein, the circling race
Of life-blood in the sharpened face,
The coming of the snow-storm told.
...
At last the great logs, crumbling low,
Sent out a dull and duller glow,
The bull's-eye watch that hung in view,
Ticking its weary circuit through,
Pointed with mutely warning sign
Its black hand to the hour of nine.
That sign the pleasant circle. broke:
My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke,
Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray
And laid it tenderly away;
Then roused himself to safely cover
The dull red brands with ashes over,
And while, with care, our mother laid
The work aside, her steps she stayed
One moment, seeking to express
Her grateful sense of happiness
For food and shelter, warmth and health,
And love's contentment more than wealth,
With simple wishes (not the weak,
Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek,
But such as warm the generous heart,
O'er-prompt to do with Heaven its part)
That none might lack, that bitter night,
For bread and clothing, warmth and light.

Within our beds awhile we heard
The wind that round the gables roared,
With now and then a ruder shock,
Which made our very bedsteads rock.
We heard the loosened clapboards tossed,
The board-nails snapping in the frost;
And on us, through the unplastered wall,
Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall.
But sleep stole on, as sleep will do
When hearts are light and life is new;
Faint and more faint the murmurs grew,
Till in the summer-land of dreams
They softened to the sound of streams,
Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars,
And lapsing waves on quiet shores.
Next morn we wakened with the shout
Of merry voices high and clear;
And saw the teamsters drawing near
To break the drifted highways out.

So, first Prince Charles speaks out condemning faddish educational theories ascendent in Britain, causing a flash of anger from Labourites. Now Labour announces they will be investigating the Prince's finances in Cornwall "to see whether the public is getting value for money and that this isn't some sort of tax fiddle for the Royals."

And shame on your for thinking there is any intimidation, or any connection between the two.

Creeping Misanthropy

Sometimes I find it terribly hard not to be a complete misanthrope. That is not to say, as a curmudgeon, I am not perturbed at the direction of many things and with the ideas stapled in many people’s heads. Lord knows, I am. But in the living of everyday life, you encounter a steady stream, day-in and day-out with no break for lunch or holiday, of utterly dumb, inconsiderate, blindly selfish, arrogantly self-centered individuals. They are everywhere and are, I think, breeding at a rapid rate.

Lately this has come home to me in two areas: driving and dogs. Let me explain. First, no matter what they say about East Coast drivers being jerks, it has not changed much on my sojourn out to the Midwest. They drive extraordinarily fast out here and tailgate with the best of them. Tailgating represents vehicular arrogance and seems to be based on several important points (and I flatter it by making it seem a rational choice – it is always unthinking): (1.) you are going too slow for the driver behind you, or (2.) the driver behind you does not like people in front of him, (3.) by driving very close the driver behind you either hopes (a.) you’ll speed up, or (b.) pull over, and finally (4.) the driver behind you thinks you do not notice him, so he pulls over toward the left (toward the yellow line) so that one half of his car and one headlight is clearly visible in your side mirror.

Referring to my list above, tailgaters are dumb people because they assume that by their unsafe actions they can affect another’s driving behavior. Tailgaters are inconsiderate because they are intent on making a public statement (via their car) that you are too slow for them, and it is terribly annoying to have someone inches off your bumper. Tailgaters are blindly selfish and arrogantly self-centered because they are only considering their own situations and do not care about anyone but themselves. “Whatever I think gets me to my bowling match on time, that’s what I’ll do. So get outta my way.” It is sort of like driving and getting to my destination by any means necessary.

Second, I would estimate fully half or maybe more of dog owners should not own a dog. Every day we walk our dogs around the block and every day we encounter utterly dumb, inconsiderate, selfish, and arrogant fellow dog owners. They often refuse to keep their dogs on leashes and let them run free around the neighborhood, where they can pester other dogs, do their doos in other people’s yards, and harass other people walking their dogs on a leash. When their dogs get run over by a semi-truck at rush hour, do you think they will realize the error of their ways? I doubt it.

Those dog owners who do walk their dogs on leashes (God bless them all) often do not pick up their dogs doo, which means the rest of us have to walk through a cesspool. I am often tempted to monitor who is not cleaning up after their canine charges, collect their deposits, and return them to their owner’s front porch. “I’m sorry, you must have dropped this.” These people must think they are the only ones in the world, that their dog doo will evaporate, that no one else will ever notice or care. Notice: the world is not your oyster. Lift up your head and see that other people have to live with you and your dog.

Finally, too many dog owners do not train their dogs, and when you encounter them on walks (again, assuming they are on leashes) they bark deliriously and sometimes viciously, and pull on the leash so violently they leave the ground and their owners are often dragged with them. And the owner’s response? Rarely a “sorry” or “I apologize,” but usually a smile or no recognition at all (“Maybe if I ignore them, they won’t notice.”)

Hence, with some reservation but based on experience, misanthropy is rapidly become my creed. Is thinking outside yourself that difficult? Is the notion that the world is larger than yourself too hard to fathom? Apparently so, for far too many.

Pride of Place

One of the things I have noticed since being in Indiana is that many people here have very little of what I call "pride of place," of being proud of their native state or region and thinking it (at least in some particulars) superior to other places. So often, when I ask students about Indiana, they roll their eyes and sarcastically ask, "Well, how do you like it?" They take no joy in their native soil and seem rather sheepishly embarrassed by it.

Where does this come from? I wonder if lack of pride comes from simple lack of knowledge. In order to have "pride of place," you must have a "sense of place," of knowing, at least in part, the historical and cultural particulars of a region. What makes Indiana different, unique, indeed superior than other places? Have they ever read Booth Tarkington? Or James Witcomb Riley? Or discovered the Battle of Tippecanoe? Or visited the Benjamin Harrison home? Or heard of the immortal Charles Warren Fairbanks?

Once fortified with some cultural knowledge, a sense of the state's uniqueness amidst the flat expanse of the Middle West (we are not Illinois or Ohio, we are Indiana, and here is why), pride of place should follow.

Back after a Thanksgiving respite "back East."

I've been reading Wyndham Lewis lately, a tough but interesting read. Has Mr. Soames spoken much about PWL? I can't remember. Some bits:

But whatever the special circumstances, with Rymer on board the ship would have ceased to be at peace. Such pacific bliss as I have dwelt upon would have been out of the question; politics, religion, and the itch-to-teach would have combined, a trinity of irritants, to sow disquiet in the ship from one end to the other ...

I hope the man of parts I write of is not disappearing beneath such elaboration: not this poor clergyman who forgets he has no money, who yearns for honor -- who certainly has dreamt of fame, but who dreams incessantly now of social justice and a new, bright, bossy, fraternal world -- a new Jerusalem. He comes from a part of England that has bred rebels like rabbits. His verse is of a wizard elegance, the song of a rather mechanically cheerful bird, on the highest and frostiest bough in a frost like the last frost of all, celebrating the winter of our discontent as though it were the morning of the world ...

Well quite

Comments by Robin Lane Fox historian advisor on the movie Alexander about the nature of battle rage (lyssa in Greek):

"I know what it means now," Fox says. "Even with a rubber spear, I know what it means, and you don't come near a chap, even with bare legs, if he is possessed by lyssa, especially if he is a historian."

Bare legged berserker hordes of historians. Oh my.

Having explained the mysteries of Delaware Chancery, I wish to read the Style Editor venting upon this here article from the NYT.

It does not begin well:

SEATED to my right was a former college fraternity president. To my left was a Condé Nast editor. The low roar of conversation — about personal trainers, one-night stands and the unlikely pleasures of calf roping — was interrupted by a spate of impromptu dancing, squeals of laughter and a brief wrestling bout. The tuna-noodle casserole was going over well, as were the Nutella and Skippy sandwiches.

The Postal Service, an indie-rock band, played in the background. A case of inexpensive wine was flowing, augmented by Grey Goose martinis and red plastic cups of Johnnie Walker Black, neat.

Dorothy Draper's advice was working.

Believe me, I could use some advice. I am a 22-year-old with a subpar income. I live with three roommates in a walk-up railroad apartment on the Upper East Side.

Until recently I had no clue what an aperitif was, and my idea of a proper dinner involved grating real cheese into a Kraft Dinner. Now, on the eve of the holidays, it was time to grow up and face that post-college rite of passage: giving my first dinner party.

Oh, gag me with a bottle of Grey Goose. Madam, Dorothy Draper would tar you and feather you and beat you bloody.

And when these are the opening paragraphs in a New York Times article on your new presidential library, don't you think that you would get even more nervous as you ponder your Legacy?


Like the 42nd presidency itself, the new Clinton library here sprawls across eight years of big ambitions and small details and does not omit, but hardly dwells upon, the sex scandal that led to Bill Clinton's impeachment trial.

The William J. Clinton Presidential Center, to be dedicated on Thursday, is a futuristic glass-paneled rectangle cantilevered over the banks of the Arkansas River, evoking Mr. Clinton's metaphoric "Bridge to the 21st Century." It is a reflection of a man who famously crammed just about everything into his speeches and his presidency and has now crammed them or their facsimiles into this shrine he hopes will shape his legacy.


I think it's time to announce that when I retire from the Presidency, or from the Ombudsmanship, I will not build one of these silly monuments to myself, nor ask the taxpayers to maintain it.

I'm sure the Doc saw this on the BBC, I just wanted to beat him to the obligatory foxhunting post. The House of Lords having voted to retain foxhunting, albeit with a new licensing system, it looks like the House of Commons will summon up the powers of the Parliament Act to override the Lords.

It's enough to make me want to take up the sport.

So I was listening to NPR this morning, soaking in all the amusing testimony by Michael Eisner, when it suddenly struck me: what in the heck is the CEO of Disney doing sitting in a courtroom in Georgetown, Delaware? That is about as far as you can get from anywhere on the Northeast Corridor.

Since the Style Editor has a legal background, and knows about things like Chancery Courts, maybe she can enlighten me.

Joan Baez performs anti-Bush minstrel show in Virginia. Don't quite know what to say about this. I think perhaps this deserves limited comment: Seek professional help, Joan.

Herbst

Die Blätter fallen, fallen wie von weit,
als welkten in dem Himmel ferne Gärten;
sie fallen mit verneinender Gebärde.

Und in den Nächten fällt die schwere Erde
aus allen Sternen in die Einsamkeit.

Wir alle fallen.
Diese Hand da fällt.
Und sieh dir andre an:
es ist in allen.

Und doch ist Einer, welcher dieses Fallen
unendlich sanft in seinen Händen hält.

Rainer  Maria  Rilke


AUTUMN


The leaves are falling down the world's abyss
as if in heaven distant gardens wither.
They fall in silence, meekly without mirth.
And through eternal night this heavy earth
falls from all stars to utter loneliness.
We all are falling, this hand falls.
Just look around you - it's in everything.
Yet there is One, who holds this fall most gently in his hands.

You must go and read the profile given our dear friend in blogville Enoch Soames -- you'll find it over at normblog. Some of the choice bits:

If you could effect one major policy change in the governing of your country, what would it be? > I would return the rebellious North American colonies to the Queen.

What do you consider to be the main threat to the future peace and security of the world? > Do you mean besides people?

Do you have any prejudices you're willing to acknowledge? > I am not prejudiced; I hate everyone and everything equally.

What is your favourite proverb? > Every improvement in communication makes the bore more terrible.

Instead of approaching the lack of conservatives in academia as an issue of fair play or ideological balance, Mark Bauerlein in the latest Chronicle discusses it via sociology and makes a remarkably good case.

But we can't open the university to conservative ideas and persons by outside command. That would poison the atmosphere and jeopardize the ideals of free inquiry. Leftist bias evolved within the protocols of academic practice (though not without intimidation), and conservative challenges should evolve in the same way. There are no administrative or professional reasons to bring conservatism into academe, to be sure, but there are good intellectual and social reasons for doing so.

Those reasons are, in brief: One, a wider spectrum of opinion accords with the claims of diversity. Two, facing real antagonists strengthens one's own position. Three, to earn a public role in American society, professors must engage the full range of public opinion.

Finally, to create a livelier climate on the campus, professors must end the routine setups that pass for dialogue. Panels on issues like Iraq, racism, imperialism, and terrorism that stack the dais provide lots of passion, but little excitement. Syllabi that include the same roster of voices make learning ever more desultory. Add a few rightists, and the debate picks up. Perhaps that is the most persuasive internal case for infusing conservatism into academic discourse and activities. Without genuine dissent in the classroom and the committee room, academic life is simply boring.

I couldn't agree more.

Royal Mail Contest: Write like an illiterate and win a prize

In an attempt to drum up business, the British Royal Mail is sponsoring a letter-writing competition for school kids. Sound innocent enough? Well, the catch is that children can use (and are, in fact, encouraged to use) modern slang in their compositions, and the winner will be chosen by a thus far unnamed "urban music star." Sayeth the BBC:

The contest, for five to 11 year olds, is designed to "bring letter writing in line with the communication trends of children today".

The results should "express the sender's personality".

Oh yes, in Anglo-American society and culture today there is far too little self-expression -- we really need to liberate letter-writing from inhibition and spread the plague of expressing one's personality to yet more areas. Ugh.

Common turns of phrase like "chav", "as if", "minging" and the perennial "cool" might be expected to feature heavily.

The terms "innit", immortalised by spoof rapper Ali G, and "yeah but, no but", favoured by Vicky Pollard of BBC TV's Little Britain, are also among modern youth catchphrases.

However, even in the age of e-mails and text messages, certain competition rules apply.

Carrie Holder, Royal Mail's social policy manager, said: "If a child's hero is Eminem we would expect the language used to be very different to a formal letter to Tony Blair, for example."

"It is important that children recognise the value of letter writing, whether it's to inform, advise or respond effectively or to convey feelings and emotions."

Far be it from me to suggest the Royal Mail's "social policy manager" is dead wrong (and who even knew the RM had a "social policy manager?" Does the RM have a social policy?) but shouldn't they be exercising a modicum of leadership and suggest that school children not talk and write like Eminem and more like Tony Blair? Certainly if literacy is a social good (and I would think the RM "social policy manager" would know this), why encourage the young to write like ill-mannered, uncultured, illiterate boobs?

British businesses have warned that they are uninterested in employing those with limited vocabularies. Schools are trying to correct it a bit, albeit not with enough conviction and verve. British kids cannot spell very well, and (big surprise here) neither can prospective teachers.

But in the search for more mail revenue (which seems to be behind this), the RM seems more interested in dumbing Brits down. Who cares what they say, as long as they pay for the stamps. Good social policy there.

Gary Wills Loses It

I don't believe, much, in the internet practice of "fisking", christened after the brutal beating given to the uber-lefty correspondent of the Independent, Robert Fisk. It seems pretty sophmoric to me, most of the time I see it done. But Gary Will's rant in the Houston Chronicle deserves a good working over. Here, then, a few highlights.

He begins:

This election confirms the brilliance of Karl Rove as a political strategist.

Of course it does. Karl Rove, evil genius, drinking the blood of bats in order to see into the future, controlling his Bushpuppet with twiddles of his overweight pinkies. This is called squaring the circle, comrades. Since Bush is, of course, mindless, each of his victories shows the mega-IQ of Karl Rove. By 2008, I predict, Karl Rove will be the Smartest Man Ever.

We continue:

He calculated that the religious conservatives, if they could be turned out, would be the deciding factor. The success of the plan was registered not only in the presidential results but also in all 11 of the state votes to ban same-sex marriage. Rove understands what surveys have shown, that many more Americans believe in the Virgin Birth than in Darwin's theory of evolution.

This might be called Bryan's revenge for the Scopes trial of 1925, in which William Jennings Bryan's fundamentalist assault on the concept of evolution was discredited. Disillusionment with that decision led many evangelicals to withdraw from direct engagement in politics. But they came roaring back into the arena out of anger at other court decisions -- on prayer in school, abortion, protection of the flag and, now, gay marriage. Rove felt that the appeal to this large bloc was worth getting President Bush to endorse a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage (though he had opposed it earlier).

Behold the new rationale, as discussed by Professor Brooks! It was those damn God-Lovers, comrades! Them Jesus lovin' freaks up in the hollers of the Applachians, getting dipped in Goose Crick, blubbering hymns, marrying their sisters, chewing tobaccy...and not one of them has read Gary Wills! True story!

Oh, and those Born-Agains are full of anger, too. Unlike Gary Wills, I suppose, who continues his irenic discourse thus:

Which raises the question: Can a people that believes more fervently in the Virgin Birth than in evolution still be called an Enlightened nation?

America, the first real democracy in history, was a product of Enlightenment values — critical intelligence, tolerance, respect for evidence, a regard for the secular sciences. Though the founders differed on many things, they shared these values of what was then modernity.

Gary Wills has written books on the intellectual history of the Revolution and the Early Republic, but you would never know it from these sentences. Or, perhaps more accurately, you know what to expect when you read them.

Are we to gather that at the time of the Revolution most Americans did not believe in the Virgin Birth? Or that most of the "founders" did not believe in the Virgin Birth? That people who regarded themselves as "Enlightened" did not believe in the Virgin Birth? That theological commitments, in their minds, inevitably clashed with "a regard for the secular sciences" to the detriment of the theological commitments?

Well, that all depends on what kind of Enlightenment existed here in America, doesn't it? Perhaps the Enlightenment in America was not quite like the God-free French Enlightenment. Perhaps the American Enlightenment was considerably influenced by the Scottish Enlightenment in ways that allowed Americans to maintain a fervent Protestant faith.

Hmmmm. I seem to remember a book that touched on some of these themes. Wasn't the author named...Gary Wills?

[And what's with this Virgin Birth thing? How about feeding the five thousand, or walking on water? What about the Resurrection? You aren't sex-obsessed, are you, Gary? Or is this part of the whole disaffected Catholic thing you've got going on?]

Then comes this:

Where else do we find fundamentalist zeal, a rage at secularity, religious intolerance, fear of and hatred for modernity? Not in France or Britain or Germany or Italy or Spain. We find it in the Muslim world, in al-Qaida, in Saddam Hussein's Sunni loyalists. Americans wonder that world thinks us so dangerous, so single-minded, so impervious to international appeals. They fear jihad, no matter whose zeal is being expressed.

Right. OK. Well. Actually you do find a lot of fundamentalist rage in Europe, often concentrated in the Moslem communities there, to be sure. And do you think it might be exacerbated, just a little bit, by such Enlightened stances as banning headscarves?

But let's get back to the narrative. Europeans hate us because we believe things. Thus...what, exactly? Are we worthy of destruction? That would seem to be the logical conclusion from this farrago of illogic.

We press on:

Bush promised in 2000 that he be a uniter not a divider, that he would make conservatism compassionate. He did not need to make such false promises this time. He was re-elected precisely by pitting the reddest aspects of the red states against the blue. In this, he is very far from Ronald Reagan, who was amiably and ecumenically pious. He could address more secular audiences with real respect.

Newsflash! Gary Wills, author of Reagan's America, card-carrying member of Reagan Haters of Amerika, finds something to love about Dutch.

After such a miracle, Brother Gary, how can you deny the possibility of the Virgin Birth?

To sum up. Here is a classic example of bile and vituperation dressed up with hack scholarship, in this case allusions to historical happenings to give the air of ponderous punditry to the essay. What makes is so bad is that he knows better, but doesn't give a damn. This is precisely the sort of thing that David Brooks was warning the liberals against doing.

They just can't help themselves.

Final thought: if this is the best deep-thinker they can rely on, if this is the oracle of the (intake of breath) New York Review of Books, they really are up the creek

Tired of politics? Sure you are.

Well, now for something completely different. David Warren has a delightful column up on the joys of the cuisine of Friuli (that's the bit of Italy between Trieste and Venice). He even includes a recipe...

Great David Brooks column in the NYT today. Take a peek:

But the same insularity that caused many liberals to lose touch with the rest of the country now causes them to simplify, misunderstand and condescend to the people who voted for Bush. If you want to understand why Democrats keep losing elections, just listen to some coastal and university town liberals talk about how conformist and intolerant people in Red America are. It makes you wonder: why is it that people who are completely closed-minded talk endlessly about how open-minded they are?

And Newsweek has some fantastic behind-the-scenes looks at the campaign, some distinctly unflattering to Kerry. Again, take a peek.

This article in the Globe was amusing, on how uber-liberals in Cambridge, Mass. are dealing with a Kerry defeat. Some of the choice remarks:

"It just blows my mind," said Susan Corcoran, 60, who bundled herself against the wind near Central Square. "I really can't believe there are that many people across the county who are going to wrap themselves around morals as a reason to vote for Bush."

NASCAR dads. Security moms. Karl Rove. Corcoran spit them all out like poisonous seeds. "It infuriates me," she said. "Like I don't have any morals because I voted for a guy who at least has some common sense?"

"I wouldn't want to live in Kansas, Missouri, Wisconsin, where they're so concerned about how much you go to church and how moral you are," Corcoran said. "At least I live here. I wouldn't want to live anyplace else."

And you wonder why the Democrats get smoked in Red America, such arrogance. Trust me, people in Kansas, Missouri, and Wisconsin (which went Kerry, if I'm not mistaken) are tickled pink you plan to stay away. I watched (or endured, perhaps) the "Daily Show" last night, and Senator Chuck Schumer was a guest, another man who does not seem to "get it." He started ripping Wyoming as a place where people drive too fast (this from a New Yorker?) and saying "maybe we need more reruns of 'Bonanza.'" Keep it up.

The language of war and terrorism, which Bush used to question Kerry's leadership, rang hollow for Theresa O'Neill, 35, a real estate broker sipping a coffee with her brother, John, at the 1369 Coffee Shop.

"The whole war on terrorism -- what is the war on terrorism?" O'Neill asked, her voice thickening with irony. "It's like a bogeyman, and you can't fight the bogeyman."

Just click your heels together, and say, "There is no terrorism, there is no terrorism." Dream on, buddy.

Near Central Square at Broadway Bicycle School, Liz Coffey, 30, tinkered with the guts of a bike. A Green Party supporter, she was less surprised by the turnout.

"I don't have a lot of faith in my fellow Americans to do the right thing," Coffey said. "I'm always a pessimist when it comes to elections, probably because I grew up under Reagan."

I guess "do the right thing" means vote Green and agree with me, which is pretty hysterical right there. "Growing up under Reagan" for her (30 years old) would mean she was ages 6-14. Yeah, I'm sure those bitter memories are still fresh.

Bunny Diehl agrees.

Fascinating find in Britain: a Roman cosmetic tin from the Second Century AD, and it still had finger marks inside.

And here's a good one: a University of New Hampshire freshman was kicked out of his dorm and had to live in his car, until the University dropped its charges this week. His crime? He put up a flier in the dorm saying that freshmen girls were overweight and should take the stairs. UNH charged him with "harassment, disorderly conduct, violating affirmative action policies and lying," and also "imposed sanctions against [him], including probation through May 30, 2006, a mandatory ethics meeting with a judicial office official by Nov. 15, counseling, and writing a 3,000-word reflection essay." The word "draconian" comes to mind. Eventually the Foundation for Individual Rights in Education was called in and the matter was settled in the student's favor.

We were also up bright and early today, first to Mass at 7am (it is All Souls Day), second to the polling place to vote. We are not in a battleground state either, so there was no line. I'll be staying up pretty late tonight too. And I am nervous.

I'm not in a battleground state, but I voted. Break out the breakfast whisky! It's going to be a long day.