Warmth Redux

Just a short while ago, heating oil and gasoline were at all-time high prices. Everyone started to panic. But this was just a tease. Now prices of both are way down. So everyone should be happy, right? Would that it could be so easy.

We discovered that our entire economy is a house of cards. All it took was the antics by greedy money lenders, clueless borrowers and asleep at the wheel regulators. In their stupor, they bumped into the bottom cards and the whole tenuous superstructure came crashing down.

You lose your job. Time to dip into your savings. But wait! Those savings in stocks and mutual funds are worth half what they were in January. The value of your house has dropped, so a home equity loan isn't worth much if you are lucky enough to have any equity at all, but on the other hand is anyone lending anything?

A massive amount of value has disappeared from all sectors of the economy with astounding alacrity. Where did it all go? If you peek around the corner of the now empty hen house, with scattered feathers blowing around, what do we see? Is that an unbelievably fat fox licking its chops? What happened to that guy you hired to watch the hens? Is he over in the shade of that apple tree, sleeping soundly?

Hey! You! Sleeping on the job? Looked what happened while you dozed!

But boss, it weren't me, it was that gosh-darn rooster - I got so tuckered out tryin' to find it to git it back in its pen, I plum fell asleep!

You blithering idiot! It never left the pen! What's that in your pocket? A hip flask? I hope that isn't whiskey you were drinking!

Uh... no... sheep dip...

Sheep dip? I'll give you sheep dip! After you leave the house, it reeks of liquor and smoke, and then I find you drunk and lying in the gutter again! Ha!

But boss! It's only because of my poor mother...

Your poor mother? The wealthy heiress who disowned you because you're a no good bum?

Uh, I mean my poor children...

You don't have any children!

Uh, I mean... uh... I...

And they lived happily ever after.

The Latest but not Greatest

I accepted a job in October working for some employer who has a contract with a major biotech company to update their batch records. All well and good, but after the PM got back from vacation, things started to get a bit messed up. Soon I was working on an on-call basis, which ended up being 8 hours for a week. Then the other shoe dropped, me being the other shoe, dropped from the project, very abruptly. Budget issues. Budget issues. Budget issues.

Guess what, I have budget issues too. Can I drop my mortgage payment? Can I drop my electric bill? Can I drop my health insurance premiums required by law?

Now it seems we have been in an economic depression for a year. And does anyone wonder what happens when you leave the fox to guard the chickens?

OK, so we got trouble, right here in River City, but what about Mumbai? Could it be that some psychopaths are trying to start a war between India and Pakistan with the intended result of the government in Pakistan being brought down and the military thrown into disarray so the psychopaths can hope to take over?

There are way too many psychopaths running around. Be they from Pakistan or Wall St., there are too many.

Warmth

Warmth is a word that suggests something inviting. Someone with a warm personality is much more engaging and enriching to be around than someone who is cold, a word that suggests distance and aloofness.

So too do we think of these words in a more literal sense, specifically calories, units of energy. Now in the waning days of September, as summer in the northern hemisphere quickly draws to a close, as autumn lies in wait, ready to pounce upon us who dwell north of certain latitudes, the impending lack of warmth, the incipient cold that will soon be carried on the breezes, looking in all corners for any bits of warmth to grab and carry away with it, what happens?

We will retreat indoors. Indoors we have central heating, to counteract the loss of warmth outdoors. But how do we do this central heating? Oil, gas, electric in most cases.

Now for the editorializing

Oil of course has been getting much attention of late. Excessive demand, limited supply, greed, all lead to comical prices. Gas is not far behind, in spite of substantial domestic supplies in the USA. And electricity? As long as most electric power is in the hands of profit motivated corporations, this too comes very dear. Curiously, where electricity is provided by publicly owned non-profit utilities the price is much lower.

Now I am not a socialist, but when we have something which is not a luxury and is indeed a necessity and most often a monopoly with no competition in a given location, is it morally defensible to put the fox in charge of the hen house? Not an easy sell I know, but I propose that all electricity be provided by publicly owned non-profit utilities. At the same time, it is essential we also promote green technologies. Photovoltaics, wind farms, geothermal, passive solar designs.

Of course, many of us cannot afford to do many of these things by ourselves. But even we of moderate means can do something. Compact florescent bulbs, obviously. Front loading washing machines is another. If you have an electric hot water heater heater, depending on your usage patterns you can shut the thing off most of the time automatically with a timer designed for the purpose. And pellet stoves - here is a hot item in more ways than one.

Here in the northeast USA, pellet stoves are flying off the shelves. So too are pellets. But get this - pellets are available for less than $300 a ton. Based on a quick and rough estimate, based on four tons for the heating season, this could cost me around $1200 for the winter versus around $5000 for oil, assuming the pellet stove will completely replace the oil burner. That may not be a safe assumption, but with 38,000 BTUs per hour provided by pellets, which are carbon neutral, I am ahead of the game by a wide margin both financially and environmentally.

Yes, I can feel very virtuous. Now all we need is for everyone to drive a plug-in electric car that is supplied with power from renewable sources. Fat chance anytime soon, particularly where winters are severe. How do you heat and defrost an electric car during a one hour commute through an ice storm? Answer, don't drive! Too bad most employers refuse to tolerate telecommuting or to locate next to mass transportation hubs. But that is another rant for another day.

Congo

Let me begin by quoting one line from an otherwise uplifting poem written by Thomas Campion around 1600:

"But fools do live and waste their little light,
and seek with pain their ever-during night."

Now let me point to a web site:

http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2008/01/11/60minutes/main3701249.shtml

How much pain, I wonder, can men carry with them as they march on toward their own death? How much willful brutality can men carry inside themselves, ready to unleash over and over? How can men be such unmitigated monsters? How, even in their warped minds, can they separate the image of women from the state of dignity?

Congo, you are hemorrhaging. You have become a poison pool of bitter toxicity. Why do you do this? Who are these men? They have mothers who carried them, bore them, nursed them. They have sisters. How could it have happened so?

Congo, your women are bleeding. Your men are striking the blows. Anger, fear and pain are all around. What will you do now? How will you stop it?

Old House Woes

Yesterday I was trying to investigate the condition of the back porch roof. Putting up the ladder against the gutter which was unavoidably in the way, I climbed up just enough to notice the pressure of the ladder against the gutter was destroying my homemade gutter hanger which replaced the original piece of junk that broke earlier.

Okay, let's try a different approach. The porch roof being quite steep, I angled the ladder so it was flat against the slope of the roof, clearing the gutter, but with the angle-adjustable feet flat on the cement walk for maximum traction. I climbed up with no problem. Once up there, I examined the roof but could not find anything particularly amiss, so I started back down. As soon as I started back down however, so did the ladder, the rubber feet I thought had plenty of traction just sliding merrily along the wet cement walk. It had been raining quite a bit.

I think I instinctively stepped off the sliding ladder while attempting to grab the roof - fat chance considering there was nothing to grab. I'm not sure exactly what happened next but before I knew it I was on my back on the cement walk. I recall a brief moment of feeling some blunt force impacts, but there I was, wondering for a minute what the physical consequences were. I slowly realized I could actually get up and walk, albeit rather slowly, to the back door.

I was a bit light-headed for a short time. But I came to realize all I had sustained was a few minor abrasions, some extra pain in my lower back if I bend the wrong way, a little pain in one hip, some neck strain.

Ladders are very useful things, but they are like chainsaws. If you aren't careful, you can render yourself a significant physical insult. So be careful out there!

Employment Woes Redux

I am yet again on the outside looking in. Revenue projections fell short, so my value fell much shorter, down to zero.

But there is a bright side. It is the beginning of August. The gentle month of summer. The sea beckons. I have some time for it now.

And one day later...

Knoxville, Tennessee, 27 July 2008

One day after my birthday, a day of peace, calm and pleasure, a gathering of good people with the same goal in mind had their day shattered. For a couple of them, that day was their last. For the rest, that day will never completely end.

The door was open to this sad and angry man, just as it was to anyone who wished to come in and share the time and space of a community that excludes no one.

Tolerance has always been a target of fear. When people are afraid without knowing why, it must be the fault of those who are not afraid. The tragic irony is that the people who would have been most likely to show this man compassion end up being the targets.

But now, having lashed out in desperation, this man destroyed all hope for himself while leaving a trail of tears behind him. Why?

Happy Birthday

Today is my birthday. It is warm and sunny, not too hot, not too humid. A perfect day for a birthday.

Nothing too extraordinary is planned this time. But it has been a nice morning. Sitting out on the front porch, I was served a very rich flourless chocolate cake for breakfast, presented very nicely, surrounded by freshly cut gladiolus blossoms. Just a small piece of course - a little goes a long way. Along with an espresso, it was lovely. Svetlana knows how to present nice things very nicely.

This evening we shall meet a friend at a Spanish tapas cafe that we have been to several times and like very much. It will be a good time.

In the meantime I will go outdoors and enjoy the sunshine and blue sky.

Zimbabwe

Mr. Mugabe has caused quite a stir. And why is this? All the poor man said was he would start a war rather than let the opposition get elected by a majority of voters who are quite sick of incompetence, corruption and unbelievable arrogance. All he did was have his thugs terrorize, torture and murder those ungrateful wretches who did not appreciate how he pillaged and vandalized the country, completely wrecking the economy.

Poor Mr. Mugabe. He is obviously a victim of a smear campaign organized by white colonialists. After all, we know what a lackey of white domination Nelson Mandela is. So criticism from a fellow African counts for nothing, so just ignore it.

Oh, Mr. Mugabe, how misunderstood you are! You have been working so hard to free Zimbabwe from the disgraceful past when it was Rhodesia. You have liberated your people because you only want what is best for them. That's why you have them murdered. It's for their own good! That's why inflation is 350,000%, because you are growing the economy!

Now you have been re-elected you can continue your work liberating Zimbabwe from western oppression. You may have to murder more than half the population to do it, but at least you have the courage of your convictions.

Now all we need is your conviction in an international court for crimes against humanity, along with all your thugs.

Lonely Young Russian Women Part 2

It seems my friend Mariya from Kazan has an identical twin named Svetlana in Kirov. Either that or Svetlana from Kirov had no picture of herself and happened to have a picture of Mariya from Kazan, which may be the more likely scenario since the picture is also titled "I_am_Mariya".jpg. Svetlana, like Mariya, is also 29. I am now convinced all cute single women in Russia are 29. 1979 must have been quite a year all over Russia.

Anyway, here is the email from Svetlana (or Mariya, or Phineas J. Satchlesnatch...)

***Message follows***

Hi my friend!
I only wished to write to you the letter and to tell as in general my letter got to you! First I would like to speak a little about myself my name is Svetlana to me 29 years I live in Russia to Kirov. All the others wash data and a photo in the appendix to the letter data. I was in agency of acquaintance and to me advised yours e-mail the address I do not know whence they him took but they gave me yours e-mail that I could have acquaintance to you. And I only wanted that you have spent about 10 minutes both looked wash a photo and wash data and received from you the answer you would like to have acquaintance to me or you only would not like this? Tell to me I so only the nobility it much would like. Also I shall wait much your answer. I started to search the man as to me very alone and 29 years and I do not have man if you wish to begin with me correspondence or easier to begin acquaintance
tell to me your answer. I shall wait much!

I hope your new friend well I hope that I can become for you friend Svetlana! Can you send me you photo and story life on my e-mail: svetlanchiksokolochik@gmail.com


***End of message***

So this is Svetlana from Kirov in the picture, unless it's Mariya from Kazan, or perhaps Debbie from Des Moines... OK, I have to admit, getting the same picture again and having Photoshop...

Lonely Young Russian Women

There are quite a few lonely Russian women. Most of them are 29. Must be a good age to be lonely, female and living in Russia. They like to send emails all over the world, hoping some sucker, uh, some gracious, single man will send her lots of money, uh, marry her.

Today I received the following missive from one of these lonely young Russian women. The attempt to write nearly incoherent English in a charming manner is amusing.

***Message follows***

Hi my friend! I only wished to write to you the letter and to tell as in general my letter got to you! First I would like to speak a little about myself my name is Mariya to me 29 years I live in Russia to Kazan. All the others wash data and a photo in the appendix to the letter data. I was in agency of acquaintance and to me advised yours e-mail the address I do not know whence they him took but they gave me yours e-mail that I could have acquaintance to you. And I only wanted that you have spent about 10 minutes both looked wash a photo and wash data and received from you the answer you would like to have acquaintance to me or you only would not like this? Tell to me I so only the nobility it much would like. Also I shall wait much your answer. I started to search the man as to me very alone and 29 years and I do not have man if you wish to begin with me correspondence or easier to begin acquaintance tell to me your answer. I shall wait much! I hope your new friend well I hope that I can become for you friend Mariya! Can you send me you photo and story life on my e-mail: maryiawomman@gmail.com P. S. My photo and all data are in archive. My e-mail: maryiawomman@gmail.com

***End of message***

The above came from an account appearing as Chad Weston [hoerjtifpum@boylebuick.com]. Chad? boylebuick? Oh well, it doesn't matter. Maryia wanted me to see her picture, so I included it here for your enjoyment. She is cute, whoever she is.

Lakota Woman

Mary Crow Dog, later Mary Brave Bird, a half-blood native American woman, put her name on a book published in 1990. She was 37 at the time. I just finished reading this book.

Mary is from my own generation. We grew up at the same time, in the same country, but we we grew up in very different worlds.

It is one thing to look at history the way it really happened in previous generations. I look at my own family's history back in the 19th century. I see some very different times, and different events. But the essential way my ancestors lived was not so different from my life today.

Looking back at the lives of Mary's ancestors, it is rather different from mine. They were hunters, gatherers, people of the earth, people living with the earth. Their way of living, their social conventions, their physical and spiritual presence were of a separate reality. They lived this way from antiquity, back before recorded time here in this country, this land. They developed a culture rich in wisdom, strong in body and soul. Religious leaders and doctors were one in the same, medicine men. The mind, the body, the spirit were all one. They could have gone on forever, as long as the Sun god keeps the sun where it is.

Then the white man came. Native Americans were here, but their footprints were soft. Nonetheless, the natives were in the way of the white man. The natives ways were strange, primitive, savage, not the way the white man knew was best. So it began, the long, brutal, bloody, cruel rolling of the white man's wheel across the native landscape. It became official U.S. government policy to destroy native American culture. It moved across the continent like a glacier, crushing the natives, pushing them out. It dragged on for hundreds of years.

The modern white man might think all this ended with Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull. The history books seemed to stop there. But it did not stop at all. It continued, and it continued with a vengeance. It is the American holocaust, the deliberate, organized effort of one culture to crush another. I find it almost unbelievable that while I was growing up in benign suburbia, Mary's people were subject to corporal punishment for speaking their own language. The opprobrious prairie schools of the 19th century were still in operation. Mary's people were being beaten, jailed, murdered for the crime of being a native. Incredibly, Mary's life was also little different from her more recent ancestors.

As long as we see others as others, we will never be at peace. We would not treat our family this way. But we are related. I perhaps slightly closer than some, with an ancestor woman coming from the Delaware group of natives. Only a drop in the ocean of blood, but as with all water, Mitakuye Oyasin, we are all related.

New Employment Soon

Yesterday was a beautiful day - sunny, warm, light breeze, a classic day in May. We went to the Arnold Arboretum in Jamaica Plain and strolled amongst the lilacs... ah yes, the lilacs, of blossoms bright and fragrances sweet, many hued from white and pink and lavender and violet and burgundy, climbing up the steep grassy hill, a verdant knoll with magical properties, a landscape of dreams...

It seems an act of absolute crassness to sully this halcyon setting by even carrying a cell phone, but being a victim (or should I say participant?) of this crass society of getting and spending, laying waste our powers, I nonetheless carried this rude device. And there, amidst the lilacs and sunshine, it brought me some news. Our crass society wants me back in active mode. I have a job offer.

So once again I will be journeying from the distant hills to the urban cityscape. Once again to the streets and brick buildings, the rails and bridges, the rumble and the roar. To Boston.

World News

It appears my last post was tax day, 15 April. And now it be the 9th of May, so soon? I have been negligent of this space, such that I did not see the kindly corrections to my attempt at simple French until today. Ah well, to France I must travel and stay for a spell if I am to learn the language to any useful degree. Here it seems unlikely to progress very well, provincial vacuum that we inhabit.

Speaking of provincial vacuums, misery around the world continues apace. The good people of Lebanon seem to find it dashed hard to be good to each other - being fellow countrymen means nothing to the goons with guns; does the quality of life in their country matter nothing to them? When you have various Christian sects, Sunni Muslims, Shia Muslims, Druze and others all mixed together and living relatively peacefully for 20 years, why set fire to your own house?

In southeast Asia, the rulers of Myanmar (Burma) would rather preside over a vast graveyard than to behave like anything resembling humans - these guys are like the Daleks from Dr. Who; it would be funny if it weren't so painfully tragic. What is the point in being such ruthless bastards? What in hell are they afraid of? That they might not go down in history as execrable pigs?

And in Africa, what is going on in Zimbabwe? The opposition leads in the vote, but evidently Mugabe admires the statesmanship of Idi Amin and is sending armed thugs around the country to terrorize anyone who just maybe voted for the opposition. What to do when you are in danger of losing the election? Break some bones. Burn some houses. Kill some people. Democracy in action.

And China sent a shipload of weapons to Mugabe last month while the election was sinking into chaos. China had to recall the shipment after neighboring countries refused to unload it. China also has close ties with Sudan, another international pariah. Are the Chinese leaders being willfully blind? Do they have any clue what they are doing?

As Margaret Atwood observed, it is dangerous to read newspapers.

Sous le ciel bleu

Les fleurs éclatent comme les danses du soleil sur eux. Printemps opère avec magie.

Anglais: Flowers erupt as the sun dances on them. Spring works its magic.

More correct French: Les fleurs éclatent pendant que le soleil danse sur elles. Printemps opère avec magie.

Employment Woes Part II

So far this year, I have applied directly to 27 job postings for which, according to the job description, I am qualified on paper and in reality I could do perfectly well. So far this year, not one request for an interview. So far this year, mostly dead silence. I have been called by recruiters about various other jobs, but locations are sometimes crazy for contract work (Rapid City for two months?) or the job description does not suit me at all or the pay rate is comically low.

For people laying claim to the same job title as I, many of us share something: there are many of us. We are part of an ample supply all seeking a piece of a demand that is somewhat less ample. Since the demand knows this, they can collect resumes with no sense of urgency and they can cherry pick. Who can blame them? Better to be on the demand side when the supply is ample.

But I must persevere. I must be patient. Patience is a virtue. Good things come to those who wait. The Lord helps those who help themselves... wait, does that mean those who help themselves are the Lord? Oh Lord, what Pandora's box am I opening now? But what care I if the sager sort my deeds reprove? I shall not weigh them, for they are of no substance, but even a vapor that appeareth for a time and then vanisheth away.

Employment Woes

I just found out this week that my job, my official business role, for which I perform professional services and for which I am paid so I can in turn pay the wolves prowling around my door (you know, the OTHER service providers, some professional and some not), is funded only through next week.

A neat arrangement, isn't it? Evidently my services are dispensable, but the OTHER services are not, so I have to keep paying them no matter if I am paid or not. I think I got into the wrong line of work. I should have become a tax collector. Can you imagine folks saying "We don't need his services - we don't have to pay him!"... when the tax collector comes calling? Ha!

But I suppose I should not lament this all too frequent state of affairs too much. I am inclined to celebrate diversity, in nature, in human culture and experience, in many ways. If I were ever to be concerned about lingering too long in a job, it has turned out that diversity has been my guiding light - even if it is more accurately called the hand I am dealt in a game of strip poker where what I must strip off is the illusory cloak of security and comfort in familiar surroundings.

But the imminent demise of my daily refuge from unemployment can be seen two ways: a problem or a set of opportunities. Or even it might be both? I think it is often that we don't easily see opportunities until we have a problem to solve. In any event I do intend to solve this problem by exploring potential opportunities. In fact I have already started. Wish me luck. Thanks.

Dreams of Earth and Sky

The sun shines brightly above the gray and wet blanket that hangs heavily in the nearby heavens. The light is scattered, spread by a sky-broad brush. Colors sink back. The trees whisper together.

Still the moss is green. The water still runs. Clambering through clefts, over rocks, searching endlessly for its destination. All the water knows where it must go. The sea beckons. But no sadness does the water carry. It knows it will return to the mountain top, after leaping from the clouds to which it will miraculously rise from the sea.

There is no sorrow in the gloom. Though the day be bleak, the fire of the spirit is warm. Swift feet dance around it. Colors, bright and rich festoon the scene. Music plays! Beneath the willow, tree at the river.

When night falls, nightfall, river of night, then sleep, night's daughter, comes to you, let her see through your eyes the colors rising, reflecting on your water.

So fly on over the beaches, leave the fields behind.

In Memorium: William F. Buckley

William F. Buckley, the highbrow American conservative, has died. With his passing, an era has also passed.

I liked him, in spite of my finding much of what he said to be specious and sanctimonious. My sense is he always took the high road, avoiding the gutter that so many right wing apologists favor. He could have a very civil and intelligent discussion with someone such as John Kenneth Galbraith, who was from the opposite side of the political fence. He could respectfully challenge someone on their views. He could even agree with a political adversary on certain issues, showing that political differences do not require mutual demonization.

William F. Buckley was a man who represented the best and brightest among so-called conservatives. He kept the discussion on a thinking person's level. A rare breed. A loss. Bill, I may have disagreed with most of your premises, but I never resented you for it. Would that more of your fellow conservatives could emulate you.

Peru Negro

Last night I was treated to excellent front and center seats where I was able to fully experience a performance by the Peruvian music and dance ensemble "Peru Negro".

When thinking about Peruvian music, you might first imagine the pipes played by the native Peruvians, high up in the Andes. This is a part of the sprawling landscape of Peru. The part I got to experience last night you can get from the name - Peru Negro, or Black Peru.

Africans were brought as slaves to many places in the new world, and Peru was one of those places. For anyone with an interest in colloquial music, you will have noticed that where African cultures mixed with other cultures there have been some fascinating musical results. Peru Negro is one spectacular example of this. To me the music seemed a bit like what you might get by blending Salsa, Flamenco and African drumming.

In the program notes, the word exuberant was used. One definition of this word is "abounding in vitality; extremely joyful and vigorous". And it certainly was. It was exhilarating!

There were ten dancers, five young men, five young women. There were I think about 11musicians, including two lead singers and several backing singers. In spite of the name, not all members are black, indeed there are a variety of ethnic influences present.

The program was basically a dance, a song, a dance, a song etc. This allowed the dancers to change costumes, which they did often. It probably allowed them to recover a bit as well. The dancing was, shall we say, energetic.

The dancing and singing were not by any means segregated. The female lead singer would often dance a bit as she sang while the dancers were off stage, but she would also sing often during the dancing and move about in between the dancers.
The singers and dancers also worked on engaging the audience, which they managed to do quite well. They put on frequent stage antics, some of which included a young boy who was also a good percussionist and evidently a dancer in training.

Overall it was a thoroughly delightful evening. Peru Negro is on tour all over the country with what appears to be a frantic schedule. Check out http://www.perunegro.org/. If you have a chance to see a performance, do!

Political Rant II

This was another political rant that upon reconsideration I decided was over the top. Not that some people do not deserve excoriation, but I would rather devote political rants to real issues instead of attacking the character of someone I don't like.

Agreeing with the Wall Street Journal

Yes, I do sometimes agree with the editorial page of the WSJ. Even if I don't agree with the point being made, the writing is reasonably literate. Something I too often notice in opinion pieces from so-called liberal pundits is a writing style that is puerile and devoid of any substantive argument.

But I don't care for political labels. Liberal, conservative, libertarian, moderate, what do these labels mean? They used to mean something, but now they are tossed around with no regard to actual meaning and are nothing more than pandering party favors.

So even if the WSJ opinion page is conventionally labeled as conservative, I can agree with this page from time to time without incurring the label myself. Same with the Daily Kos - must I be tarred with the epithet "liberal" because I agree with some of the posts?

It's all humbug. I do not fit in any convenient category of political belief, and I wish more people would reject such categorization.

Zen?

Recently I read "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" by Robert Pirsig. It is one of those books that has been around for some time. People who were inclined to read it probably did so 25-30 years ago, but that doesn't matter because the story, although set at a particular time, is not limited in any way to the time in which it is set.

I found it fascinating, enlightening, aggravating, tedious. Yes, all of these things and more. To go after one point, I must take issue with the title. I would change it to "Perpetual Agonizing Over Abstruse Questions and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance". I could find very little Zen anywhere in the book.

Don't get me wrong, the abstruse nature of the questions is no criticism. It just isn't Zen. Neither is the perpetual agonizing. Again, make no mistake, agony is a timeless quality of the human experience and can always be examined in a new way. I just don't understand why he came up with Zen in the title.

The book is often bleak and depressing. Pirsig presents his earlier adult life in the third person, someone who has died. He calls this person Phædrus. Slowly he drops hints that Phædrus is his own life, a life of the aforementioned perpetual agonizing that accompanies him to a nervous breakdown. This led to his hospitalization where he was evidently treated with shock therapy. The book relates a stretch of time after he had regained some control over his life.

I have ridden and worked on motorcycles and I found his discussions in this area very useful. He does indeed get into things that shop manuals should tell you, but don't. We can't really expect shop manuals to get into your state of mind, but quality work is dependent on the mechanic's ability to see the whole machine and feel a part of a delightful process and interconnectedness. He spends quite some effort on "Quality" and perhaps goes overboard here and there, but I think it is a worthy effort.

His travels across vast stretches of American landscape reminds me somewhat of William Least Heat Moon's Blue Highways. The similarity quickly breaks down, however, in that Moon was traveling alone and Pirsig had his son with him. The presence of Chris, the son, is a significant if puzzling factor. Pirsig has what seems a troubled relationship with a boy he suggests is emotionally unwell. Add to this Pirsig's nightmares about death and I was feeling far removed from anything resembling Zen.

Peony by Pearl Buck

I am almost done reading "Peony" by Pearl S. Buck. I had never heard of the book before, but there it was in a book swap, amidst a number of throwaway paperbacks. It stood out, being a hard cover, and evidently a printing from some years ago. Turns out it is a first edition, published by John Day and dated 1948.

The book is extraordinary. It is evidently based on actual events. Set in China, it concerns the title character, a young Chinese woman who is a resident servant in a Jewish house and the people around her. Something I did not know is that China was a safe haven for Jews fleeing persecution in Europe. This sets up a story that gets into questions about culture, ethnicity, religion, belief, love, sex, honor, friendship, family, conflict, squalor, life and death, among other things.

The book is beautifully written. The story is captivating, compelling. Some transcendental moments appear here and there. The magic of the landscape and of nature are periodically evoked.

I recommend this book. You can find it on Amazon.com.

Commuter Rail Creativity

Yesterday there was a snow storm. Many people stayed home. Of course, I being the devoted worker walked through the snow to the train and rode into Porter Square. The train was on time! Not a typical thing, but a delightful change from normal.

Today, the weather dawned simply cool and cloudy. I got down to the train and boarded it about 5 minutes before scheduled departure. After 20 minutes I noticed the electronic message board changed from "All trains operating on or near schedule" to "The 410 has been cancelled. We apologize for the inconvenience." Then the crew announced the train was going nowhere and another train was ready to board behind the stricken train.

So I head over to the replacement train. I get in to the first car. No heat. I go to the next car, heat. Good. Make myself comfy. Get out my book. The train gets going and things seem somewhat normal until we get to South Acton. There, the crew says everyone hoping to get off before Porter Square must get off here because the train will be going non-stop to Porter Square. A bunch of people get off and stand there on the platform. The train leaves. The train then stops at Lincoln, Brandeis, and Waverly (perhaps other stations too, I was very much into the book) before stopping at Porter.

OK, forgive my curiosity, but what happened to those people left at South Acton? One guy who always gets off at Lincoln was left there. He could have stayed on and gone one more stop. Why did they do this? Deliberate prevarication seems unlikely. But something went terribly wrong this morning amongst the decision makers for the commuter rail.

Mitt loses

After John McCain won in New Hampshire, the Associated Press had this to say:

"It was a bitter blow for Romney, who spent millions of dollars of his own money in hopes of winning the kickoff Iowa caucuses and the first primary — and finished second in both. Even so, the businessman-turned politician said he would meet McCain next week in the Michigan primary, and he cast himself as just what the country needed to fix Washington. "I don't care who gets the credit, Republican or Democrat. I've got no scores to settle," he told supporters."

Sound familiar? Mitt was the guy to fix the mess on Beacon Hill. Now he wants to fix Washington? Absolute swill. But I suppose there is something good happening here. With Mitt spending millions of his own money, it is at least a form of redistribution of wealth, a concept entirely anathema to grasping, stingy old sinners.

Excoriations

Excoriations, what a name for a blog post. It may not be a good name. Too negative for those who know the word and too academically snobbish for those who don't. Then again, those who know the word might correctly assume that it is just a title, used for effect, not to be taken too seriously. And those who don't know it might be simply intrigued.

Excoriate: to denounce or berate severely; flay verbally.
But also: to strip off or remove the skin from.

I don't actually intend to devote all my time here to the former (literally) or the latter (figuratively). But there are some things I believe to be bad that I also believe should be identified as such. Talk may be cheap, but when the power brokers announce to us all that the moon is made of green cheese, we had better risk some cheap talk lest we risk some very expensive silence.