A Mad Gallop

21. June 2007 · Comments Off on A Mad Gallop · Categories: Domestic, General, History, Literary Good Stuff, Old West, Working In A Salt Mine..., World

Or more measures from the accelerating writer’s life waltz! One day of paid work at the office yesterday, but two weeks left to myself on such projects as a couple of reviews, and a couple of books to read for upcoming reviews…. And a CD that I simply must listen to and come up with some cogent observations, even though I have never heard of any of the artists. Even Blondie hasn’t heard of most of them; it’s a soundtrack CD for the TV show Kyle XY. So far the only ready observation that has come to my mind is “gosh, where does the poor lad put the salt when he eats celery in bed?” which will only amuse people about a third of a century older than the main demographic for the music.

I’m here all week… try the veal, and don’t forget to tip your waitress

I am galloping away on the Civil War segment of the current epic, having completed the first six chapters, slowly building up to the tragedy which drives the rest of the book (and the subsequent volume) , the murder of a fairly major character by a vigilante gang. And no, I would not be talked into a reprieve; I had always planned this, since I began jotting down notes on various striking incidents and people, and working out how to weave characters and a plot around those particular points. The death of this character sends everyone around – friends, family, and distant connections off on various abrupt tangents… and that accounts for about 75% of the rest of the plot. I have more than just the bare-bones idea on conversations, subsequent incidents and scene descriptions, so I expect the rest of the first draft will move along pretty briskly. This is the Civil War… when the story starts to drag, I can always arrange to have someone in a battle. Or to sneak around on a dangerous mission, or something… the possibilities are nearly endless. I suspect that if I hadn’t broken it out into three parts “Barsetshire with Cypress Trees and Lots of Side-Arms” would be about the thickness of a concrete block when finished. The Fat Guy, who has read some bits of it insists that it would sell in Texas like $3 a pound chicken-fried steaks, and asks what are they thinking of that I don’t have any more nibbles from publishers than I do?

I ran across another writers’ webside, who does historical fiction also (different period) and was amused to note that she also sets out a humongous chart, tracing incidents and accidents, and character’s development, and when children are born (or conceived!)… when you are dealing in a story that spans several decades, and pivots around historical events, keeping track of it all is absolutely key! I have a chart that contains about six different historical time-lines, from national down to local, maps out three different families, four romantic pairings, two towns, one feud… and the rise of the Texas cattle industry. At the very least this means that when two characters meet in an Austin saloon in March of 1847, I know what their small talk would have been about!

But as soon as I finish the draft, then I will need to sit down and read… a lot. If the chart and my chapter outline are rather like the bones, and the first draft is the inner organs and muscles and skin and all… then the final draft is getting it into shape, doing a bit of nip and tuck, and applying the couturier outfit, manicure makeup and hairstyling. All these details that show, and I like to get them right; as a matter of pride and of not wanting to be nibbled to death by those ducks who are mad for that particular event or period. I can’t imagine anything more embarrassing than having an expert enthusiast look at a particular episode and say, “No, it didn’t happen that way, it’s quite impossible,” and then refer me to about a dozen authoritative tomes that would have set me right to begin with. And this applies to smaller stuff, as well: what was the name of the fanciest retail store in Austin, on the eve of the Civil War? Who did daguerreotypes, and where was that studio, or was there more than one? When did the various militia troops recruited by the Committee for Public Safety begin to wear gray uniforms, and who supplied them? Where was the stage stop in various towns, and how often did the stages run… and what was the average travel time? What were people talking about, after church on a Sunday, or in a tavern, or on a long scout into the Llano? All this and a thousand more questions potentially come out of just about every paragraph, when you are trying to write it looking through the lens of a different century than the one you know first and best.

All this is part of making a convincing venture into the past, and showing it to the present, making it real and breathing, dust-covered and glorious… which is a way of saying that I need some books now, either that the library doesn’t have, or that I will need for months longer than they will check them out to me… should any of our readers want to help me make it a little farther down this trail. I posted a list here, and will add to it as the need occurs, or subtract as I am able to buy them myself. More happy blogging this weekend. I promise.

CALLING ANNIE OAKLEY

18. June 2007 · Comments Off on CALLING ANNIE OAKLEY · Categories: General

On a happier note than my previous post, Red Haired Girl has finally hung up her dance shoes. The first one or two recitals were fun to attend, and we videotaped everything. Six years into it I was to the point where gouging my eye out with a dull spoon was preferred to sitting for 2 – 3 hours watching group after group with little or no talent. The last two years she and Real Wife have taken pity and allowed me to forego the experience. She has now decided to take lessons from a voice coach, and the results are nothing short of amazing. This kid can make people take to their feet and clap now. Last weekend she brought home a trophy from a local “Star Search” contest, performing Mr. Cellophane from the musical Chicago. It was an outdoor show performed on the courthouse square, with absolutely perfect weather and an audience of a couple hundred or so locals.

The next day, she was going through the typical thirteen year old angst of being bored because there was nothing to do. Her best friend called and asked her if she wanted to ride along with their family to an old fashioned tin can shoot at the local gun club. Real Wife was kind of down on the idea (there were never guns in her household while growing up, so she most associates them with the all-too-often sensational news stories seen these days). I pointed out that the kids would be well supervised, so she relented and off went RHG. She returned home about five hour later, and I’ll be damned if she wasn’t toting a rather large trophy for having won second place in the age 11 – 17 class. She’s never held a gun in her life, much less fired one. I think the sweetest part of the victory was the fact that, of the other twenty or so kids in her class, most were boys, and first place also went to a girl.

She now wants me to join the gun club so we can shoot on a regular basis, which I am inclined to do. I have a 1938 Walther PPK, a 1940 Walther P38, and a 1937 (I believe) Mauser Hsr, all semiautomatic pistols that I bought as collector items but have never fired. I did present to her (albeit with a lot of restrictions relating to its usage and availability) to my first rifle, an Ithaca model 49 lever action single shot .22 that my dad gave me for my twelfth birthday ($25 from Sears and Roebuck). I think that I’ll watch the local gun auctions for a single action .22 revolver to teach her pistol shooting – I’m very against the idea of handing a semi to a kid.

There may be readers out there who rail against teaching kids to shoot guns, but in these parts, and where I grew up in rural upstate New York, it is a perfectly natural thing to do (my 15 year old niece shot three turkeys and two deer last year). Our local high school is consolidating, and one of the benefits will be more diverse activities, which to her excitement will include trap shooting. It looks like I need to find a decent shotgun too. She’s a little worried about the kick, but we have a year to work on it.

I am now wondering what other hidden talents she has…

ANOTHER OF LIFE’S ADVENTURES

18. June 2007 · Comments Off on ANOTHER OF LIFE’S ADVENTURES · Categories: General

Real Wife and I met with the specialist this morning to discuss treatment options and prognosis for her breast cancer, and I must say it was quite revealing. Our initial reaction on hearing the news was based largely on the norms of twenty to thirty years ago, i.e., that such a diagnosis meant at best radical and life-changing surgical procedures, extensive radiation, and chemotherapy and, at worst, the unthinkable. While I have suffered loss in my life, I cannot recall ever feeling such intense fear and hopelessness, compounded by the need to not let it show in front of Real Wife and Red Haired Girl, both of whom were likewise caught in their own personal hell. In retrospect, we erred in convincing the primary doctor to apprise us of the results as soon as they were known but before meeting with the specialist to determine what they really meant.

In this instance, we were told that it is the most common form of breast cancer, with both the treatment regime and typical outcomes well understood. Also working in our favor is the fact that it was caught relatively early, with the lump at slightly less than one centimeter. The plan at this stage is to remove the lump and inject a dye for the purpose of checking the lymph glands – both procedures done, surprisingly, on an outpatient basis. Followed up with several localized radiation treatments to catch any stray cells floating around, the hope is for a complete cure. I thought it significant that the doctor chose the word cure and not remission. If they fail to get all of it this round, another surgical procedure may be indicated, along with possible chemotherapy. While we both realize that nothing is certain, and things could take an unexpected turn for the worse, our attitude will be optimism unless hard facts tell us otherwise.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch we received a phone call yesterday at 6:00 a.m. from Real Wife’s eighty-eight year old mother asking us to come immediately. She had fallen in the night and broke her hip, and it took about two hours for her to crawl to the phone (she is now more receptive to the use of those Lifeline alert systems!). We flew over and met an ambulance, which transported her forty miles to the nearest hospital with an orthopedic surgeon. After about ten hours of waiting they finally performed surgery to replace the femoral head, which was snapped off at the base. Coincidentally, I had an identical injury some twenty-two years ago, so I was expecting the worst in terms of the trauma associated with the surgery and the difficult recovery. In my case, because I was just a little over thirty, they elected to save the head, so I was put back together with pins, rods and plates. That led to over three hours of surgery and several months of recovery. Yesterday they had her on the table for about forty-five minutes replacing the head with a prosthetic, and had her up on her feet today. Simply amazing.

All in all a pretty crappy Father’s Day, particularly for someone who really, really hates hospitals. The only good thing I can associate them with is – becoming a father 🙂

The Passing Parade

18. June 2007 · Comments Off on The Passing Parade · Categories: Air Force, General, History, Military, Reader Mail, Wild Blue Yonder, World

Regular reader Robert D. emailed me overnight, letting me know that an ace in two wars, General Robin Olds had died over the weekend.

In my early time in service, General Olds was famous for a defiantly non-reg mustache, and for having flown with Chappie James over Vietnam, forming a duo nicknamed “Blackman and Robin”.

He was a colorful character; these days seeming like a character in a swashbuckling adventure novel, or a movie serial.

More here.

Expanding on the idea

17. June 2007 · Comments Off on Expanding on the idea · Categories: General

Fred Thompson is on board with John Edward’s ‘Marshall Corps’ program, and expands on the idea

“Here’s how I picture it – after joining, the courageous volunteers would shave their heads, spend a few months receiving combat & weapons training, then be deployed to unstable countries to reach out to those who are at risk of seduction by violent extremism. For maximum effectiveness, this reaching out should be done mostly with bullets, grenades, rockets, and other high-velocity/high-explosive projectiles.”

“I would call this expanded version of Edwards’ ‘Marshall Corps’ the ‘Massively Armed Response to Islamic Nutjob Extremists’ or ‘MARINE’ Corps.”

I will allow that he really didn’t say it but as with so many things posted at IMAO .. he should have.

Cross posted to Space For Commerce.

Via.

Radar – You’ve Got my Prayers

17. June 2007 · Comments Off on Radar – You’ve Got my Prayers · Categories: General

In a comment to another post, contributor Radar writes:

Real Wife and I married on 13 June 1992, and it’s been a great fifteen years. Sadly, we learned Friday, based on a biopsy done on our anniversary, that she has breast cancer. We go to the doctor tomorrow morning to learn the details and what lies ahead. Hold Patsy tight, I know that I will be holding Real Wife like the most valuable jewel I ever found.

Radar

I didn’t want his words to be lost in comments.

Radar, you’re embarking on one of the scariest journeys an individual can ever take. Let it change you both. Let it make you more aware of the deep, abiding love you share. Let it make you more aware of the beauty not just in each day, but in each hour, each minute, each breath you take.

Listen to those who’ve gone before, and learn from them. Listen to those who’ve never been there, and accept their love, concern, and well-wishes.

Your family has my prayers, my good thoughts, my well-wishes, and my promise of help if there’s anything I can do when I live so far from you.

As crazy as it sounds, I’ll be praying laughter for y’all, as well as health and peace.

Gentle hugs to you,
Mary

Remember Me

17. June 2007 · Comments Off on Remember Me · Categories: General

For the troops, courtesy of Instapundit. Normally, I don’t link to stuff that the Blogfather of us all notes, as I assume that everyone knows about it, once he has linked it. But this is one of those exceptions. (The technique is called “editing to the beat”, BTW)

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Whither Palestine?

17. June 2007 · Comments Off on Whither Palestine? · Categories: General, Good God, Israel & Palestine, Rant, World

It’s a rhetorical question, to which the answer is probably “straight down the same old drain that it has been circling for thirty years and which have become even more circumscribed since the latest intifada and the election of an even more unsavory lot of gangsters than Yassir Arafat if that were &&$#@ing possible and why the &$##@ does anyone still care?” I certainly don’t, except for a lingering bit of curiosity about how long until… oh, but I’ll get to that.

Now the whole of Gaza looks like a sandy and surrealistic version of “Escape from New York”, combined with one of those nature films which have quantities of rats or scorpions or something equally unattractive, all crammed together at the bottom of a pit, or in a wire cage and either frantically clawing/stinging each other to death… and trying to escape, while the dispassionate camera stands above the tangle, and watches.

Watching dispassionately is about all that is left for all but the die-hard pro-Palestinian adherent to do. The rest of us have becoming increasingly disabused of our illusions and our natural sympathies. Fifty years of sucking on the international charity teat, and being waved as a bloody shirt every time someone gets a little narked at Israel, or the Jewish community, or the US, or whatever the middle-east cause du jour is. Thirty years of murdering Americans, culminating by rejoicing in the streets after 9/11. The unstoppable torrent of lies, sickening violence, whining self-justification, of children dressed up in little bomb vests, of honor killings and mob killings and plain old killings. Of hijackings and assassinations, and the desecration of Christian holy sites. The corruption of international agencies tasked with responsibility for looking after three, or is it four generations of those who backed the wrong side in a war they thought they might win, the perversion of the news agencies who are supposed to do more than shill for one side, and of intellectuals who have rather more invested in striking a pose in an artfully draped kaffiyeh…

Nope, every shred of sympathy I ever had for the poor, pitiful Palestinians dissolved about two years ago. In the words of a tee-shirt I used to have, “I used to be disgusted. Now I’m only amused.” And not even very much amused, since there is really only thing I have left to wonder about in this regard. And that would be, how soon the usual media shills, international charity busy-bodies and intellectual frauds will start prancing around, telling us how sorry we have to be for the Palestinians and demanding that we “do something”. Oh, yeah, and I wonder if it will have any effect this time around, outside the very small circle of media shills, international charity busy-bodies and intellectual frauds. Even Jimmy Carter must be getting fed up.

In answer to those impassioned pleas, I will do something, of course. I will go and make more popcorn.

Decade

16. June 2007 · Comments Off on Decade · Categories: General

I was married on June 13, 1997. My wife is the bestest, sweetest, kindest and most loving person I know and I’m privileged that she’s chosen to share her life with me.

A long time ago in another life when things got difficult or strange we used to say in a mock-ironic way “every day a holiday, every meal a feast”. The past ten years there have been hard times and difficult times and I’ve learned that what we used to say in jest can be true.

Every day a holiday, every meal a feast. I love you, Pasty.

Cross posted to Space For Commerce.

JFK

16. June 2007 · Comments Off on JFK · Categories: General

I’ve been listening to John Kennedy’s Inaugural Address via these guys. It might be the lateness of the hour or my own latent romantic streak but

In the long history of the world, only a few generations have been granted the role of defending freedom in its hour of maximum danger. I do not shrink from this responsibility—I welcome it. I do not believe that any of us would exchange places with any other people or any other generation. The energy, the faith, the devotion which we bring to this endeavor will light our country and all who serve it—and the glow from that fire can truly light the world.

I’ve got chills running up and down my spine. I know that the man had his issues and Camelot is just an after-the-fact deal but . . . I’m jealous.

I want a President like that.

Cross posted to Space For Commerce.

Southernisms

15. June 2007 · Comments Off on Southernisms · Categories: Ain't That America?, General, Local, The Funny, World

(Another one of those amusing e-mailed lists, posted at the Far East Network Yahoo Group chatroom)

1.) Only a true Southerner knows the difference between a hissie fit and a conniption, and that you don’t “HAVE” them, — you “PITCH” them.

2.) Only a true Southerner knows how many fish, collard greens, turnip greens, peas, beans, etc. make up “a mess.”

3.) Only a true Southerner can show or point out to you the general direction of “yonder.”

4.) Only a true Southerner knows exactly how long “directly” is – as in: “Going to town, be back directly.”

5.) All true Southerners, even babies, know that “Gimme some sugar” is not a request for the white, granular sweet substance that sits in a pretty little bowl on the middle of the table.

6.) All true Southerners know exactly when “by and by” is. They might not use the term, but they know the concept well.

7.) Only a true Southerner knows instinctively that the best gesture of solace for a neighbor who’s got trouble is a plate of hot fried chicken and a big bowl of cold potato salad. (If the neighbor’s trouble is a real crisis, they also know to add a large banana puddin’!)

8.) Only true Southerners grow up knowing the difference between “right near” and “a right far piece.” They also know that “just down the road” can be 1 mile or 20.

9.) Only a true Southerner both knows and understands the difference between a redneck, a good ol’ boy, and po’ white trash.

10.) No true Southerner would ever assume that the car with the flashing turn signal is actually going to make a turn.

11.) A true Southerner knows that “fixin'” can be used as a noun, a verb, or an adverb.

12.) Only a true Southerner knows that the term “booger” can be a resident of the nose, a descriptive, as in “that ol’ booger,” a first name or something that jumps out at you in the dark and scares you senseless.

13.) Only true Southerners make friends while standing in lines. We don’t do “queues”, we do “lines,” and when we’re “in line,” we talk to everybody!

14.) Put 100 true Southerners in a room and half of them will discover they’re related, even if only by marriage.

15.) True Southerners never refer to one person as “y’all.”

16.) True Southerners know grits come from corn and how to eat them.

17.) Every true Southerner knows tomatoes with eggs, bacon, grits, and coffee are perfectly wonderful; that redeye gravy is also a breakfast food; and that fried green tomatoes are not a breakfast food.

18.) When you hear someone say, “Well, I caught myself lookin’ .. ,” you know you are in the presence of a genuine Southerner!

19.) Only true Southerners say “sweet tea” and “sweet milk.” Sweet tea indicates the need for sugar and lots of it – we do not like our tea unsweetened. “Sweet milk” means you don’t want buttermilk.

20.) And a true Southerner knows you don’t scream obscenities at little old ladies who drive 30 MPH on the freeway. You just say, “Bless her heart” and go your own way.

Houston and Lincoln

13. June 2007 · Comments Off on Houston and Lincoln · Categories: General, History, Military, Old West, World

It’s an old-fashioned study in contrasts, to look at the two of them, Abraham Lincoln and Sam Houston; both political giants, both of them a linchpin around which a certain point of American history turned, both of them men of the frontier. The similarities continue from that point: both of them almost entirely self-educated, as lawyers among other things, and from reading accounts by their contemporaries, it is clear that each possessed an enormous amount of personal charm. To put it in modern terms, both would have been a total blast to hang out with. In their own time, though, each of them also acquired equally enormous numbers of bitter enemies. In fact, for a hero-founder of Texas, Houston attracted a considerable degree of vitriol from his contemporaries, and a level of published vilification which was not bettered until Lincoln appeared on the national scene as the presidential candidate favored by the north in the 1860 election. And both of them had ups and downs in their political and personal lives, although it’s hard to argue that Lincoln’s personal story arc was anything as eventful as Houston, who appears as the ADHD child of Jacksonian-era politics.

But they were also opposites in at least as many ways as they were similar. The family of Samuel Houston had at least some pretensions to property and gentility, whereas that of Lincoln had not the slightest shred of either. Born in 1793, Houston was just barely old enough to have served actively in the War of 1812. He seems on that account to have been representative of an earlier generation than that of Lincoln, a generation only a half-step removed from the founding fathers. He came to the notice of Andrew Jackson, and thereafter spent much of his life when not strolling up and down the corridors of power, loitering meaningfully in the vicinity. He served variously in the Army or state militia of Tennessee, as an Indian agent, in Congress and as elected governor of Tennessee. He was married three times, was an absolutely legendary drunk and lived with the Cherokee tribe for a number of years on at least two occasions. He was brave, impulsive and addicted to flamboyant gestures and attire, being talked with great difficulty out of wearing a green velvet suit to one of his inaugurations as the President of independent Texas. He was also, to judge from portraits and photographs a very handsome man, resembling a rather rugged Colin Firth on a bad hair day.

More »

Words to Remember

12. June 2007 · Comments Off on Words to Remember · Categories: Ain't That America?, Fun and Games, General, sarcasm, The Funny

….when it comes to the age-old battle of the sexes:
(gleaned from the FEN Yahoo news-group)

1. Fine: This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you need to shut up.

2. Five Minutes: If she is getting dressed, this means a half an hour. Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given five more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.

3. Nothing: This is the calm before the storm. This means something, and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with nothing usually end in fine.

4. Go Ahead: This is a dare, not permission. Don’t Do It!

5. Loud Sigh: This is actually not a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A loud sigh means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you about nothing. (Refer back to #3 for the meaning of nothing.)

6. That’s Okay: This is one of the most dangerous statements a women can make to a man. That’s okay means she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.

7. Thanks: A woman is thanking you, do not question, or Faint. Just say you’re welcome.

8. Whatever: Is a women’s way of saying F@!K YOU!

9. Don’t worry about it, I got it: Another dangerous statement, meaning this is something that a woman has told a man to do several times, but is now doing it herself. This will later result in a man asking “What’s wrong?” For the woman’s response refer to #3.

(Post any additional loaded words or phrases in coments)

Stuck

11. June 2007 · Comments Off on Stuck · Categories: General

We’ve all had those days. Driving along, you have an ‘oops’ and then you’re stuck in the mud or on the side of the road in a ditch.

.

It is just all so much more fun when you do this with your first sergeant watching. Not that I would know from personal experience or anything …

Cross posted to Space For Commerce.

A New Memorial is Dedicated Tomorrow

11. June 2007 · Comments Off on A New Memorial is Dedicated Tomorrow · Categories: A Href, General

On June 12, 2007, a new memorial will be dedicated in Washington, D.C. Almost 20 years have passed from concept to reality, 14 years since then-President Clinton signed a bill donating land.

The monument for the memorial is a replica of the “Goddess of Democracy” statue erected by the Chinese students at Tiananmen Square. The memorial is the Victims of Communism Memorial, dedicated to the over 100 million people who were killed in Communism’s wars, revolutions, and purges.

The idea for the project came to [Lee] Edwards – once an aide to Barry Goldwater and now a fellow at the Heritage Foundation – two months after the Berlin Wall fell in 1989. “I was having Sunday brunch with my wife and one of my daughters,” he says. “We were concerned that people didn’t seem interested in discussing the crimes of Communism, and that a general amnesia was settling in everywhere.” On a paper napkin, he jotted down “memorial – victims of communism” and stuffed it into his pocket.

Originally planned along the lines of the Holocaust Museum, the lack of donations forced them to a smaller project. The monument will be in a small triangular park where Avenue G intersects New Jersey Avenue. When deciding upon an appropriate statue, they thought about trying to build a Gulag replica, the Berlin Wall, or a boat such as those used by those fleeing communist oppression. In the end, they decided on the Tiananmen Square statue as something that would be easily recognizable by many, and also stand as an indictment against China’s continuing commitment to Communist ideals (the Chinese government “expressed concerns … to Bush Administration officials,” but the design stands).

The sculptor, Thomas Marsh, agreed to work for free. “When I saw the courage of those students at Tiananmen Square, I made a vow that I would try to rebuild their statue,” he says. He produced a version that now stands in San Francisco’s Chinatown and has prepared castings of it for other sites. The version that will appear in the Victims of Communism Memorial is an armature, which means that it’s derived from his original but also contains unique qualities. “It’s the biggest of the bunch and the facial features look more like the one the students made,” says Marsh.

Representative Tom Lantos (D) will give the keynote address at the dedication. President G.W. Bush has been invited to speak.

h/t: Opinion Journal

Gulag Archipelego as Penal Reform

10. June 2007 · Comments Off on Gulag Archipelego as Penal Reform · Categories: General

Kate Brown writes that the Gulag wasn’t really intended to be a series of death camps

What were the Gulag planners thinking? Who would send hungry, unshod people to the Siberian Taiga without supplies, shelter and tools in the midst of a famine in order to build a brave new world? If this wasn’t sheer sadism, but really a utopian project, as Werth, I think rightly, asserts, who could imagine success?

But really, penal reform. A society struggling to find a place for it’s malcontents and others uprooted during the drive to collectivization. To save money on guards and prison staff – it was economics, yo. It just went off the rails, a bit. Stalin meant well, you see.

Cross posted to Space For Commerce.

Absolutely the Very Last Word

09. June 2007 · Comments Off on Absolutely the Very Last Word · Categories: Ain't That America?, General, General Nonsense, sarcasm, Stupidity, That's Entertainment!

On Paris Hilton. Really. I promise. I also promise you won’t stop laughing.

Art Appreciation

09. June 2007 · Comments Off on Art Appreciation · Categories: Ain't That America?, Domestic, General, General Nonsense, World

This has nothing much to do with the topic at hand, but I would like a t-shirt that says “As a matter of fact I am not a $#@!ing tourist, I live here!”… but Blondie says that would be rather too hostile. And what brought that on? Oh, just the experience of going downtown late yesterday morning, intending to partake in the multicultural delights of the Texas Folklife Festival, which we had heard was starting on Friday.

Which it was… but not until Friday afternoon at 5:00 PM. So we decided to prowl the little art galleries and shops in La Villita, instead. It’s a collection of very old houses, nearly the oldest in San Antonio, most of which were restored over the last thirty or forty years or so; electricity and plumbing being added to them with considerable difficulty. A good few have very low doorways, and very thick walls, and once were heated (if at all) with tiny fireplaces. The neighborhood is adjacent to the River Walk, and the Alamo… even if the shops and galleries offer merchandise that is a couple of cuts above the usual tourist tat, it remains that nearly everyone wandering through is in fact most usually…from out of town.

And since it was Friday, and there weren’t too many people wandering around, most of the vendors were a little bored and very friendly, well disposed to be helpful; really this part of the world is a very friendly place. If you are antisocial, you’d have to beat them off with a stick, but about the first thing anyone asked was “So, where are you folks from?” I just got tired of growling “From here!” by the fourth or fifth time; hence, the wish for the tee-shirt.

Blondie bought a silver and garnet ring from a small jewelry and art gallery, and admired a bronze cat statuette, one of an issue of fifty, by an artist who lives in Kerrville; she might very well go back and buy it next month. I fell in love with some paintings by another local artist, who does lovely impressionalist Texas landscapes: great sweeps of meadow, or gently rolling hills… but above them the even bigger clouds, piling up in a clear blue sky. It looked like what I saw out of the car windows on last week’s road-trip, so there was no surprise when the gallery manager said the artist lives in Victoria and paints the countryside thereabouts. Oh, yeah… when I’m a rich and famous writer, I want a couple of those!

I couldn’t afford anything at all yesterday, so I had to get my amusement out of describing my ideal piece of Texas kitsch art: it’s a big-ass painting of a field of bluebonnets, with some longhorn cows, standing knee-deep in them. In the background is a windmill, and a tumbledown old barn with the Texas lone-star flag painted on the roof, and the clouds in the sky form the silhouette of the Alamo! Maybe even on black velvet, too! I’d have it somewhere where I could see people’s faces when they looked at it, and know that if they looked absolutely horrified, then they did know something about art. Alas, irony was taking a vacation somewhere away from La Villita yesterday; most of the people I described this vision to said that it sounded rather nice… and did I want to commission an artist, since all they had in stock along that line were painting of bluebonnets only.

My parents had a painting that performed the same function for them; separating those who really knew something about painting from those who just thought they did. It was a painting that had been done as part of a TV show set design; we actually spotted it, once, on an old rerun of a Perry Mason mystery, in the studio of an artist who was the corpse du-jour, about twenty years after a friend of my parents had given it to them.

It was an oceanscape, in blues and blue-greens; the moon over the ocean, with a pier on one side and some rocks along the other, only the rocks were sort of cubist and blocky, and the pier was vaguely impressionalist, and the water in between kind of blah; anyway the colors were pretty and matched Mom’s dining room décor at the time and for years afterwards. Mom and Dad used it as sort of a gauge of taste. Anyone who admired it extravagantly got points of manners but none for artistic taste. Anyone who sort of winced and looked away obviously knew it was a piece of dreck as art, but was too well brought up to say so. Mom and Dad rather relished anyone who had the nerve to come right out and ask what in heck it was hanging on the wall for: one very dear friend cemented their high estimation of his artistic taste by finally asking if he could sit on the other side of the dinner table so he wouldn’t have to look at it.

Summer is here, it’s hot and the clouds are piling up. Some day, with luck, I’ll walk into that one gallery and buy one of the landscape cloud paintings.

Not just cow farmers, progressive cow farmers

09. June 2007 · Comments Off on Not just cow farmers, progressive cow farmers · Categories: General

Buckethead has worked his way around to my home place in his ‘alternative state motto ‘ series.

  • We gave D&D to the world, please don’t hate us
  • We had a thin guy who lived here, but he was eaten
  • The Seasonal Affective Disorder State
  • Pinko commie, but in a nice Swedish way, not a bloodthirsty Russian way
  • Out drinking your state since 1848
  • Fargo’s in North Dakota, jackass
  • Gateway to Michigan’s Fantabulous Upper Peninsula
  • Stay Just a Little Bit Longer! Does that sound needy? Be honest.

More Perfidy goodness here.

Cross posted to Space For Commerce.

Slightly Accelerating Waltz

08. June 2007 · Comments Off on Slightly Accelerating Waltz · Categories: Ain't That America?, Domestic, General, Home Front, Veteran's Affairs, Working In A Salt Mine..., World

Kind of a scrambled week, overall: Saw William off to California after his long visit. T’was ever thus, just as I get accustomed to him being here, he is off again. Blondie started her summer term of classes, and my part-time employer is off and away most days showing properties… so I spent most of this week chained to a hot computer, metaphorically speaking, writing away. I’m well launched into the second book of the “Adelsverein” saga, or “Barsetshire with Cypress Trees”. Four chapters drafted, covering the lead-up to the Civil War, which here in Texas turned out to be more than usually interesting. Especially as not everyone bought enthusiastically into the noble gallantry of the Confederacy. I had a notion to stage a family wedding at the same time as the secession crisis came to a head in Texas, which will allow me to do a sort of “Duchess of Richmond’s Ball on the Eve of Waterloo” set-piece, all swirling crinoline and gallant men being called away to rejoin their militia units, while the women bravely wave their lacy handkerchiefs… oh, yeah. 19th century drama by the cart-load. Margaret Mitchell, eat your heart out!

The anticipation of writing this almost makes up for receiving another regretful rejection letter; this from the agency that wanted to review the first fifty pages of volume one , a detailed synopsis, a copy of my original query letter, a copy of their reply, etc…(and I think they wanted a small sample of belly-button lint. That would have been in the very small print at the bottom.). Their letter thanks me for sharing, and says that the story just doesn’t send them into the transports of excitement and enthusiasm that are necessary for them to take it on, blah-blah-blah, wishing me luck with another agent blah-blah-blah. I have enough of these letters in the last year to see the pattern forming; it’s one of the polite ways to say ‘no, thanks and while your book may or may not suck the paint off a Buick fender there’s a hundred like it on my desk every day and I can only pick one by some whimsical and mysterious process of personal taste and cross my fingers that you don’t get a deal somewhere else and I’ll look like a chump for having given a pass on a best-seller in case you save the damn letter’.

As you can see, I’ve gone lurking among some of the book publishing blogs lately… reconnoitering the territory, so to speak. What is really amusing is that the publishing and lit-agent bloggers insist that while there are piles of dreadful slush for them to wade through, in search of the potential pearls… those pearls do stand out! They gleam with a holy light, and the publishing world is just aching to discover them, and it’s not that hard to do! (Blow loud raspberry here.) I’d put more credence into that… if the so-called pearls thus discovered didn’t actually suck so badly themselves. If that’s the immediately obvious good stuff in the slush pile, the bad stuff must be so bad it’s toxic. Like Love Canal, Chernobyl or Michael Bay movie toxic.

Oh, well, hope still for me, anyway: another agent asked for the whole manuscript of “Adelsverein”. I am assured that the secret is to grab them in the first chapter; what could be more grabbing than a leading character escaping a massacre, I ask you?

In the meantime, while I await word from that agent, and any of the other agencies and publishers I have applied to, I am doing reviews for Blogger News Network… for the exposure (and to score free books and CDs!) and for a local monthly magazine of quite stupendous glossiness: also for the exposure and for what they pay, which is a tidy little sum. Not a fortune, but an amount well worth the time. I have proposed a handful of other article ideas for upcoming issues to the editor. I’ll hear which ones she would like me to pursue for publication towards the end of the month. I seem to be viewed with favor though being totally professional and ego-free as regards editing and rewriting on request. The essay on Hot Wells that I posted this week was the stuff that didn’t make it into the final draft. Blog material is not magazine materiel, but nothing goes to waste, as far as I am concerned. And one of my book reviews is actually now posted on the author’s website, along with a couple of reviews from the major media outlets; something to feel a little flattered about, even if it is for a book that is not yet published in the US.

Stay tuned… I am still taking donations, towards doing “Truckee’s Trail” in the fall, as a POD, and marketing it myself.

Sixth of June 1944

06. June 2007 · Comments Off on Sixth of June 1944 · Categories: General, History, War, World

Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force!
You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have
striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The
hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you.
In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on
other Fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war
machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples of
Europe, and security for ourselves in a free world.

Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well
equipped and battle hardened. He will fight savagely.

But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs of
1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great defeats,
in open battle, man-to-man. Our air offensive has seriously reduced their
strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on the ground. Our Home
Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority in weapons and munitions
of war, and placed at our disposal great reserves of trained fighting men.
The tide has turned! The free men of the world are marching together to
Victory!

I have full confidence in your courage and devotion to duty and skill in
battle. We will accept nothing less than full Victory!

Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this great
and noble undertaking.

SIGNED: Dwight D. Eisenhower

(link to more, including a pic of document)

The Ghost of South Presa Street

06. June 2007 · Comments Off on The Ghost of South Presa Street · Categories: Ain't That America?, General, History, World

On a mild spring day, my daughter and I walk on a narrow trail, trampled out between tall grass and wildflowers grown knee-high, waist-high, shoulder-high. A light breeze ruffles the flowers, around which orbit a fair of butterflies. We are on a quest, looking for the past, and exploring the ruins of the old Hot Wells resort, a sort of architectural sleeping beauty. There is no crystal coffin protecting this place, just a prosaic chain-link fence… but the place exudes quiet enchantment nonetheless. A feeling of serenity wraps around us; nothing threatens us. It is quiet, restful… even soothing.

Hot Wells today lies in a clearing among a grove of trees, across the railroad tracks, between South Presa and the San Antonio River. Someone casually driving by might think the ruins are of a factory, or a mill… but they would be judging by what the neighborhood nearby is now, little knowing that once there was a long elegant promenade, which terminated in a circular carriageway in front of the bathhouse and the hotel, a carriageway ornamented with a planting of flowerbeds, hedges and footpaths on either side. Little is left of that glory now, only the ragged stand of palms and some pomegranate shrubs grown lank and wild, far back in the scrub trees. The central ruins seem to float in a rippling green sea, a wrecked ship of buff-colored brick.

A few ranges of wall go as far as their original three stories. Some walls support a cob-web fragile roof over what had been changing rooms. Everywhere in the crumbling walls there are regularly-spaced openings for windows and doors. Faded flecks of aqua paint still adhere to the otherwise weathered grey wood. Mats of dark green vines shroud some walls, as if trying to pull them down to ground level. Trees of a good size grow up through what were once interiors; a prickly-pear cactus perches on top of a high wall, above a narrow interior courtyard

And yet, if you close your eyes, sit quietly and hold your breath in this place, one can almost hear the sound of ragtime music floating on the air from a nearby bandstand under the trees, or a wind-up Victrola paying in a high-ceiling room behind a deep verandah. Gravel crunches under the narrow tires of tinny little sedans and open touring cars, sweeping up to the front of the sprawling grand hotel, and a train-whistle blows, from the spur where a wealthy magnate has his private parlor car waiting. The past is just barely out of reach here at Hot Wells, the sounds of it just beyond our hearing, in this twenty-first century.
More »

Pirates

03. June 2007 · Comments Off on Pirates · Categories: General

There is a scene in ‘Pirates of the Caribbean – At World’s End’ where Elizabeth delivers an epic speech;

“You all listen to me! LISTEN! The other ships will still be looking to us, the Black Pearl to lead, and what will they see? Frightened bilgerats aboard a derelict ship? No, they will see free men and freedom! And the enemy will see the flash of our canons and they will hear the ringing of our swords and they will know what we can do! With the sweat of our brow and the strength of our backs and the courage in our hearts! Gentlemen, Hoist the Colours”

Note to movie makers – women can deliver epic speech, and do a good job at it. But they cannot do it bellowing like drill instructors; it comes out sounding shrill. Shrill is non-epic. This is effective epic speech and how it should be delivered;

My loving people,

We have been persuaded by some that are careful of our safety, to take heed how we commit our selves to armed multitudes, for fear of treachery; but I assure you I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear, I have always so behaved myself that, under God, I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good-will of my subjects; and therefore I am come amongst you, as you see, at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live and die amongst you all; to lay down for my God, and for my kingdom, and my people, my honour and my blood, even in the dust. I know I have the body but of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm; to which rather than any dishonour shall grow by me, I myself will take up arms, I myself will be your general, judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field. I know already, for your forwardness you have deserved rewards and crowns; and We do assure you in the word of a prince, they shall be duly paid you. In the mean time, my lieutenant general shall be in my stead, than whom never prince commanded a more noble or worthy subject; not doubting but by your obedience to my general, by your concord in the camp, and your valour in the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over those enemies of my God, of my kingdom, and of my people.

The movie? Not so bad. It is a long movie and it’s not epic cinema but it’s worth the money.

Cross posted to Space For Commerce.

The New Aristocracy

03. June 2007 · Comments Off on The New Aristocracy · Categories: Ain't That America?, Domestic, General, Politics, Rant, World

For a people that with a great deal of fanfare and self congratulation threw over a monarch and the accompanying aristocracy over two centuries ago, Americans have displayed an avid interest in the doings of such parties, and a dismaying tendency to genuflect before a patent of nobility and a decorative coat of arms, no matter how dubious. Mark Twain sent up this tendency very aptly, with the Duke and the Dauphin, at a time when fabulously but newly wealthy American families were busy marrying off their spare daughters to impoverished European aristocrats. As a small ‘d’ democrat, and amateur historian who is more often amused by ancestor-worship, I wondered why they would bother: forking over tons of cash for the privilege of being condescended to by the descendents of successful mercenary soldiers, social-climbing whores of both sexes and businessmen whose initial successes were made centuries previous just seemed like a pretty bad trade. But this sort of social game is at least consensual; and the families involved at least got their houses fixed up, or built new ones, and presumably injected a little hybrid vigor into their gene pool. Whatever floats the boat – or the familial pretensions, and it gave good materiel to the likes of Twain, Edith Wharton and Henry James.

The domestic variety of aristo-worship has been around nearly as long in our dear old republic. Or at least since the early days of mass communications, and a voracious and fairly literate readership, many of whom were interested in whatever celebrity tidbits a newspaper editor chose to throw in their direction. No, newspapers in the 19th century were not all the Lincoln-Douglas Debates, or portentous deliberations about this or that great political matter. Quite a lot of the newsprint pages were taken up with pretty much the same fleeting concerns as the newspapers today: horrific crime, dreadful accidents, bad weather, scandalous doings among people who were supposed to have known better, and the doings (scandalous and otherwise) of celebrities. Yes, indeed, Lilly Langtry and Lola Montez, and Sarah Bernhardt (among others) were followed just as avidly by 19th century fandom as Paris Hilton is today, although none of them seem to have been quite as witlessly air-headed, and Lola Montez might have been just as rotten an actress. None of them showed off their whoo-whoo in public anyway, although in private might have been another matter. No, an interest in the doings of silly and aimless celebrities is no more a hazard than an interest in the doings of silly and aimless aristocrats. Such interest meets some kind of human need, sells a great many magazines, and provides amusement to people standing in supermarket checkout lines reading the tab headlines.

I can’t be quite so indifferent and amused by the third sort of American aristocrat, even though one particular clan has a tiresome propensity to overlap with the celebrity class as far as the tabloid covers are concerned. I refer to the Kennedys, of John F. and his ilk, and all their various descendents; they are the most colorful but not the first and least of our political dynasties. Such a family as that of John Adams, the Rooseveldts, the Bushes and Gores and all the rest of them where generation after generation gravitated into elected office or public office have served the nation well – but still, the whole notion of political dynasties in America gives me the heebie-jeebies. It’s one step away from a hereditary aristocracy and a bad precedent, operating on the assumption that a recognizable name constitutes entitlement to political office. This bothered me during the 2000 election; frankly I couldn’t see much to choose between either one of the candidates. But these political families have been around for a while, and on balance they’ve probably done us more good service than otherwise.

In one of Lois McMaster Bujould’s Vorkosigan books one of her characters remarks that an egalitarian has no trouble living in an aristocratic society – as long as they can be one of the aristocrats. It’s coming to me that we have become well-stocked around here lately with supposed egalitarians who nonetheless display an unseemly eagerness to secure themselves a high perch from which to lay down the rules for others. This would-be aristocracy runs the whole gamut from well-paid entertainers and journalists, active and retired politicians, to tenured academics and busybodies of every stripe and variety. They all have certain things in common; their personal lives are secure and comfortable, if not downright lavish – but they spent a lot of time in public venues of late urging the rest of us to eschew certain things which they themselves seem to have no intention of giving up.

These Marie Antoniette ‘Let them eat cake’ moments seem to be happening with more frequency. Cheryl Crow’s TP rationing, John Edwards humongous house, lavish travel arrangements and princely fees to make a speech about poverty, the high cost of Prius cars and other “green” accoutrements, intellectuals falling all over themselves rationalizing so-called national leaders like Hugo Chavez, and pricing the working class out of the labor market with docile work-gangs of illegal immigrants. Oh, it goes on and on, and I wonder sometimes in dark moments if such people are like the old Soviet revolutionaries, who overthrew the czar, and then lived in no less privilege and comfort, all the while giving lip service to the ideals of equality. I wonder if in their innermost hearts our would-be aristos wish to demoralize, impoverish and destroy the bumptious, unruly and independent middle class, the rock of any enduring republic. It is almost as if they would prefer a new and docile serf class, who would vote in easily controlled blocs as long as the bread and circuses kept coming – and never talk back to their betters. Who of course, know what is in their best interests. Lately, every time I hear someone sneer at flyover country, or the middle and working class, their taste and preferences in anything, I hear the ghost of Marie Antoniette, and I wonder anew about our new aristocrats.

Carnival of Space

31. May 2007 · Comments Off on Carnival of Space · Categories: General

The Fifth Carnival of Space is up at ‘Why Homeshool’.

Cross posted to Space For Commerce.

Texas Road Trip

30. May 2007 · Comments Off on Texas Road Trip · Categories: Ain't That America?, Domestic, General, Local, World

This has been most unusual spring in South Texas… it has not gotten really hot, except for a day or so at a time, before reverting to mild days and cool nights more typical of early spring. And it has rained… a lot. Holy Rubber Waders, Batman, it has rained so much that the wildflowers have lingered and lingered, well past the time when they have usually withered and died back into the grass, which is usually looking pretty crispy by this time as well. But no, as of this week there are still acres of scarlet and dark gold Mexican hat, purple thistles along the roadside, and masses of little yellow daisies. And everything is still green… so lush it looks variously like England (according to William) or North Carolina (according to Blondie.)

William was originally going to go down to Corpus Christi to visit an old friend, but he lost the address, and we couldn’t locate a current telephone number… so I thought it would be at least interesting to go down to the coast anyway. I rather wanted to see the site of Indianola, and the citadel at Goliad. Blondie was on spring break, and I had the day free, so what the hell. And the Lesser Weevil had never seen the ocean… or any body of water much bigger than one of the seasonal creeks at McAllister Park.

It was a beautiful morning, we had a cooler full of water, bottled tea and energy drinks, Weevil had peed her bladder dry, and so we set out early in Blondie’s Montero sport. My idea, the early start, and Weevil at least was enthusiastic. Blondie and William, being late night-owls and late sleepers were somewhat less enthused. My idea, also to take the secondary roads… well, there was no more direct way to get there, anyway. So, two-lane road, sometimes with a median, slow-down to go through towns that sometimes aren’t more than a hiccup of three houses and a post-office… but no traffic light. A stop sign, maybe. A mixture of houses, set back from the road out in the country closer to it in the hamlets, everything from an ornate wedding-cake of a mansion on a hill near Karnes City (it was a multi-million dollar house, on the market for years) all the way down the scale to houses that appeared suspiciously to be double-wide trailers battened onto a concrete slab and tarted up a little, and everything in between, from little craftsman-style bungalows to modern McMansions in two tones of brick

But in between was the countryside, green and rolling and beautiful. The hills go on for quite a way south of San Antonio, gentler but still recognizably rolling, but all of a sudden just south of Goliad and Victoria… the land abruptly becomes as flat as a pancake, and there are no more oak trees, and nothing to block the sight of the horizon in any direction. The clouds skated over in long lines; it all looked as big as Texas is always advertised to be. The road was elevated and many houses were on stilts, for an excellent reason; apparently there’s nothing to stop a storm surge coming in from the Gulf for a good few miles.

There was nothing left of Indianola but a monument and some markers, a scattering of holiday homes and pavilions by the water-edge. We induced Weevil to venture into the water, and watched a loaded barge move up towards Port Lavaca, and that was about it as far as amusements by the seaside went.

We couldn’t even find a place to eat, in Port Lavaca where we could sit outside with the dog, so we settled for a Whataburger in Cuero… That would have made somewhat more of a point to the trip, having something by the coast, but we just kind of planned on stopping wherever our fancy and chance took us. For some cruel reason, thought, there was nothing of the sort on any of the coast roads we took: no quaint smoky BBQ places where you eat off paper plates and clean up with a roll of paper towels, no funky sea-food restaurants complete with mooching seagulls. Blondie will be extremely annoyed if we find out we missed such a place by half a block or something stupid like that.

Now, Quero is a decent little town, with many beautifully kept old houses…it looks at least alive, which is more than can be said for Nixon or Smiley. Nixon looked like a sad, half-shuttered place, and if you sneezed as you drove into Smiley, you missed it entirely.
Karnes City and Goliad were lively enough, and the citadel was most interesting… of all the places where the Texas War for Independence were fought, it’s the one that still appears most like it did in 1836. Frankly, most people are a little disheartened about the Alamo; all that is left of it is the chapel and part of the barracks, but the Citadel la Bahia has a complete circuit of walls and buildings; much easier to visualize how it would have looked when Fannin’s men were marched away.

To me it was worthwhile, though; a chance to see that part of Texas looking more impossibly beautiful than I had ever thought it could be. Now I know why the early settlers were so taken with it, but I warn anyone who will come and hope to see the same, next year at this time: this year was an anomaly… it will not look this good again for about another fifteen years.

Today’s fun new game – educate the blogger

30. May 2007 · Comments Off on Today’s fun new game – educate the blogger · Categories: General

Specifically, educate me on the pros and cons of buying a foreclosed property. What should I be leary of? The property in question looks good on the real estate site, but only has one picture. The description raises no red flags (I stay away from places that say “sold as-is” or “no disclosure”).

I’m doing a drive-by this weekend, to make sure of the neighborhood, etc, but nothing beats seeing the whole thing and getting it inspected. I just don’t want to do that yet, until I’m closer to being sure that this is the one.

Lots of y’all are way more knowledgeable than me in this area – please share your hard-learned wisdom.

UPDATE: 2 June: Thanks everyone for your input. Please don’t stop. 🙂

I drove around the various neighborhoods today, and eliminated most of my possibilities. Then I stumbled across a FSBO property that is darn close to perfect. My two biggest issues with it are (1) the listing states lot size as approx 1.25 acres, and county tax rolls state lot size as .9 acres. Which do I believe? (2) It’s not fenced, so I’ll need to figure out how much fencing I can afford, so my hounds will have a secure place to run.

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