Reflections Daniel Dolinov's attempt to keep the world in perspective

Kat's Blog (SASNB) The Raven Driver 8 Gnosis No Code Emphasis Added Liv's Life Fried Green Al-Qaedas Vertical Hold Golabutron 3000 All about the dog

Thursday, December 05, 2002 VALIS is here Unlike the way it might appear, this is the only real entry I wrote today. Everything else represents all the entries I wrote until yesterday. Radio is experiencing a bit of metaphysical crisis, something very much a la Phillip K. Dick. The previous entry summarizes my technical travails. I wrote it when things appeared to be getting to a resolution – all I needed was one file from the support person at UserLand and all my entries were going to be saved….. NOT. For some reason, the file disabled the installation – could not launch Radio at all. So, wishing to go back to active bloging, I did a fresh install of Radio, did template update, and…. As expected, lost all my entries. Something between perversity and megalomania prompted me to post all of my entries, just to make certain that people searching on Boliwood along with Italo Calvino and Semiotics can get some relevant information. As I was happily copying and pasting from the Word files (for some reason the Arial font was always lost in the translation, but whatever), I decided to check and see is it was appearing okay on the actual site. Indeed, the entries were all there. As I was scrolling down check them out, lo and behold, there were comments, sometimes as many as 8 comments for a single entry! There it is I thought, my heart pounding, true popularity at its most obvious. It is clear as day that there are people out there, men and women of all colors and creeds waiting for a new post from me; their fingers are itching to respond to what I post. Yes, people all around the globe, along with a half dozen Tau Ceti infiltrators who refused to go to the mother ship just because they did not want to miss my next blog entry… Well, it was better (or weirder) than I thought. Naturally, the comments to my entries were not freshly typed. Somehow these were comments to old entries of mine. The best thing was that the comments appeared to have attached themselves to new entries completely arbitrarily. Better yet, from within the entry one could still access the actual post to which the comments were related (although it was supposedly erased). Overall it appeared as if my blog reality got a good shake, like a jigsaw puzzle that retained its overall outline but if you look closely you can see that many of the pieces have been mislaid. 8:22:27 PM     Blog Deprivation If I am posting this, it means my technical/Blog travails have been fixed. I have to say, it’s bee an interesting experience – wanting to post and not being able to do so. It all began a couple of weeks ago when my laptop, which has Radio installed on it, began to slow down. By Wednesday it was too slow for usage. For some reason Radio would crash under my login, but would work under my wife’s (who said that there was no sexual discrimination in software). Finally the machine crashed – I think there is a physical problem with the HD, as trying to reformat the HD fails. I was very apprehensive about installing Radio on my old desktop, so as not to lose all of my entries. Through communicating with Radio support through e-mail I got instructions on how to reinstall the thing, and the good folks from Radio support will load my entries into the weblogdata.root file and send it to me. Oh, and when I tried to retrieve my name and password I was told by the system that I did not exist. All in all, a rather kafqaesque experience. But that is not the point. The point was being able to access my Blog entries, but not being able to update them. Being able to comment on other people’s writing, but not being to add an original entry to the forum. In a perverted way, this gave me an appreciation for what writers in totalitarian regimes went through. Granted, in my case it was technology rather than a government edict that was staying my pen, but still…. Nabokov claimed he did not give a rat’s bottom about whether his books had readership. I can see that (considering that any creative writing that I have done was never motivated by a thought of anyone actually reading it). At the same time, this particular mode presumes a reader, and I felt that just writing a Blog entry without posting it misses the point completely (you happy now, Stanley Fish?). Well, I am back, until the next technical calamity. 6:17:47 PM     Time for Grace This is going to be a literary event in the best of Post Modern tradition. I got up this morning with the best of intentions of putting together a solid if not stolid Thanksgiving entry, to wit, what are all the things that I will be giving thanks for when later on today I try to beat a bunch of other people to the dark meat. My rather extensive list, while true and heart felt, appeared way too hokey when actually typed. All it means to me is that while true, the list is too private and needs not be shared (I made that mistake once here and have no intention of repeating it). So instead, I will concern myself with how one goes about coming up with criteria for what one ought to be thankful for. In that "Chase for Grace," the realm of endeavor is divided into two highly unequal fields – You and everything else that acts on you. Upon careful consideration I came up with the following formulation: One ought to be thankful for those things one had little to do with bringing about. So, if you made a killing in business due to hard work, you did it, period – there is no need for extensive Thanksgiving. If, on the other hand, you just stumbled upon a soul mate without looking, that is an event to be grateful for. And please, I have no intention of trying to determine ultimate causes – a futile attempt, that if pursued to its logical extreme, will make us all sound like Grammy recipients thanking god (nothing inherently wrong with that, jut a little repetitious). To be true to my promise – after having reneged on my original purpose and exposed to all my thinking process – I now need to contradict my initial promise by actually enumerating some things for which I am grateful (otherwise I will be accused of traditionalism and formalism in my prose). One is easy – the ability to straddle several cultures. None of the life decisions that led to my current cultural schizophrenia were mine, so it safely fits the criteria I set above. Besides the pure joy of being able to surprise select people by replying to their haltering English in their mother tongue, it provides me with a better perspective on any one of the individual cultures/languages I happen to annoy people in. The second is a bit more dubious, but this will be the place where I happily ignore the criteria I set for myself. The ability to project myself upon a diverse audience and connect with some rather unlikely people will be the second thing for which I will be saying grace today. While some active projection on my part is required, the technical ability of the innumerable people who brought about the Net probably qualifies this as something I could not have conjured up by myself (Al Gore tried to make that claim and look what happened to him). A concrete example is of a person who read my translation of Lermontov’s "Prayer." The guy is doing volunteer/missionary work in Siberia of all places, and asked me if I have a translation of another poem by Lermontov, also titled "Prayer." I don’t, but I will do the translation for him, hopefully this weekend. So, go forth, ravish those innocent birds. A side note: the power of unions must have diminished incredibly. Trash was supposed to be hauled yesterday – we put it out on the sidewalk along with sorted out recycling to be picked up (on Wednesdays in the case of my particular street). Yesterday’s snow must have stopped the trash pickup (although the recycling guys somehow managed to make it). Well, I just observed my trashed being picked up on Thanksgiving morning! I know we just elected a Republican governor in Massachusetts, but still… 6:17:10 PM     Stand up and deliver It’s official, come Monday my status as a man of leisure will come to its happy end. Once again I will have taxes deducted off a paycheck, which will subsidize someone else’s unemployment (thank you all who were working while I was doling). So how do I go out with a bang from the world of unemployment? Some friends of mine have been somewhat forcefully coaxing me to take them to the Lizard Lounge. LL is a pretty funky venue in Cambridge where they play some excellent jazz and have open mike readings on Sunday, which is what my friends and I are going to do. The open mike at LL is quite unique. It has a twist to it – you don’t just stand there, reading your stuff. Rather, you stand there, reading your stuff with a three person jazz band doing an improv on your reading. This makes for a rather unique experience, in the sense that your rendition affects the music and the music affects your rendition. You feel both controlled and in control – whatever power there is in your work amplified by the music as well as enhanced by it. Really, I cannot give it justice through description, you should try it yourself one of these days. In a way, LL edified me after a somewhat negative experience. Having decided that my stuff was potentially worth other people’s attention, I went to an open mike in a Border’s in a town called Natick. Not quite the sticks, but hardly a cultural Mecca. The venue was almost strictly geriatric and they were mean. The one guy who actually had talent sank his teeth into one of the poems I read – not in any meaningful way, just with a purely spiteful zest. It was rather pathetic, but quite unpleasant nevertheless. On second thought, the poem itself (pasted below) was somewhat scandalous. I certainly felt I was stepping into a clique that was not interested in outsiders. The crowd in LL is fairly zonked, rebellious and very anti establishment in a way that feels almost old fashioned – everyone there seems to yearn for the sixties. At any rate, if I manage to get my energy back by Sunday I will head out there. Actually, just to be scientific, I could read the same poem I read at Border and compare the reactions The summer that laid its hay for our lovemaking, Took stock of passing weeks and days. The sun, who showed us favors by hiding Its face, dried the Rubicons around us, leaving just shallow grottos Through which we tread. Upon the heels of our comings and goings, a hallowed serpent slithered. In its way, exotic cacti ponderously stood. Their needles, cloyed with venom, waved their tips Like uncircumcised Pinocchios. Thus, through the dust we ambled forth, Pursued by Satan’s signifier, Hailed by viagric flora. The heat did nothing more than brighten our already Bright eyes. Expanded capillaries oozed with blood And dried out tongues would fondle dried out lips. And being all the same, the upper and the nether type Flapped silently with pleasure. We boozed on Helios’s kindness. But lunar moments had to be interspersed to foster halcyon surroundings. The heavy carpets of tall grass swallowed all sounds of protest (Sucked them completely dry, as luck would have it, But unlike the common image found upon the bluish screen, No traces of the shout were shown). The queer notion that we were being groomed entered our heads not at all. The vistas led, our feet followed and we already know what followed In our footsteps. The night was there to offer solace after the heat. Anent the night: The facets of its shiny face Belaced the areolas round our heads. The arid substance of the joyful labia was flaccidly imbued with new vitality. The eyes that often hide behind curved corners Were strewn upon the dark fields like inebriated gofers. And when we lay among them on the hay, When our heyday was proclaimed with the fanfare of an octogenarian’s erection To his twenty year old wife, They blinked like eunuchs in a porn flick. Awakening was a gazebo to our cottage, A cheesy recompense for slothful dreaming. The blankets – crumpled, the eyes – heavy with sleep. The weeping willows wiped their tears on our comeuppance. For after all, sanctified grounds were blotched with pagan nouns. Again, again, and once again, again we dipped our fingers in the holy waters. Outside the garden house, this water flowed like Manischewitz on Passover. We crossed ourselves, the garden, and our love. We crossed the sun. We left the moon a message to be considered crossed When it decided to shed light and spring out of the clouds.   6:16:38 PM     Towards a theory of aesthetics One of my favorite pastimes is trying to determine how art works, what makes it successful and what is the mechanics of our reaction to it. Recently I saw 8 Women, a French movie starring 8 women (what else?). The way the movie was constructed and executed brought about the following ruminations. We constantly go back to nature as an aesthetic model for emulation or rejection. Either way, nature is never ignored by artists. Trying to boil down the appeal, I would claim that it is nature’s functional perfection that we are taken by. There is something inherently magical in observing the inanimate world – flora and fauna function in harmony with each other – the colors of a flower attracting the right type of insect, feeding the creature and guaranteeing its own procreation, the mimetic nature of certain insects that allow them to escape predators, all those types of things. This "working in concert" element can be traced to atomic and molecular levels, where certain atoms, by virtue of their constituent parts (number of electrons and protons) bind with other atoms to crate complex molecules and consequently certain types of matter. There is an aesthetic beauty in that, and the proof of the beauty is that it works – the atoms bind together to produce air water, etc. Both the creation and judgment of art are human affairs. Whatever criteria for judgment we come up with are inherent in human nature, the product of our cerebral and emotional apparatuses. I have no intention to try and determine the "right" criteria for judging works of art, but rather the mechanics of how art operates – stay with me. One of the hallmarks of art is innovation. A true artist always seeks his or her own voice – slavish repetition of past techniques can never be called a true art. While some artists try to create completely new forms of expression with no or minimal ties to the artistic traditions of the past, such attempts often fail or are completely incomprehensible since the audience has no frame of reference on which to base its relation to the new work of art. Often, though by far not always, innovation is achieved through changing some element of artistic delivery or the mixing of styles or media. Such mixing may or may not work, just like the atoms may or may not bind to form molecules depending on natural laws. The laws by which we judge the success of a work of art of that type are aesthetic rather than physical, and are determined (or at least derived) by people (and critics, who do not often qualify as homo sapiens). This brings me back to 8 Women. Not a masterpiece by any stretch of the imagination, the movie is nevertheless quite entertaining. What makes interesting is that the director quite consciously blends several usually non-blending artistic/cinematic elements – a murder mystery, a period piece, and a musical. The atomic styles are thrown together, and the movie stands, which is an achievement in and of itself. In this respect there is a great difference between the physical and aesthetic worlds. If I remember my chemistry correctly any molecular compound can be broken down to its individual atoms, which after the breakup are indistinguishable from any other atoms of the same number of electrons, protons and neutrons. In art, once a blend occurs, the constituent elements fuse stronger and stronger over time. Eventually, only a critic or an art historian may be able to point out the constituent elements, but by doing so those elements or styles do not automatically assume artistic existence. It is, I think, unlikely, but 15 years from now, the murder mystery musical may be a standard style of movie making. And maybe a young brash French director of the early 20s of this century will fuse it with science fiction, or (the scandal of it all), will make murder mysteries where no one sings, or musicals where no one gets killed. Either way, the aesthetic foundations of our expectations from art will be shaken. Then it will be left up to the critics, audiences and box offices to determine the success of the new genre. 6:16:02 PM     Ego overload or Barbara Streisand’s secret identity Sometimes I get into a very non Seymour Glass discussion of ego. Having a surfeit of the thing myself I don’t mind others handing theirs out in generous dollops. If I had my personal ten commandments, the one regarding ego would be something to the effect of "Dude, build your own as far as it can go." Upon reflection, I would have a footnote, stating, "Insofar as you don’t maliciously trample on others." It was not even "Yentel" the movie that did it for me – although having Mandy Patinkin in a musical and NOT have him sing is quite obnoxious – and Isaac Bashevis Singer, who wrote the original story, said that the movie had no Yentel in it but a great deal of Barbara. No, it was "The Mirror has Two Faces." Once again, it was not the fact that the entire movie was about how everyone loves Barbara Streisand, how wonderful Barbara is, how desirable she is (or should be, with Jeff Bridges missing the point entirely). Considering that Streisand IS a very good actress and singer, the mentioned facts do not grate on my aesthetic board. It was a scene with Lauren Bacall, who played Streisand’s mother. It was a scene in which Bacall was made to look ridiculous, as a foil to the wise and composed Barbara. That is when it was over for me. Neither Bacall, nor the character she played had anything to signify the kind of silly behavior that they were forced to engage in. If I recall correctly, a potential gentleman caller for Bacall was about to show up and she began to prim herself young a silly young girl – no charm there, just the pathetic absurdity of an old woman having romantic interests (there is nothing absurd about the fact as such, but it was made absurd by the director – Streisand). That particular gun had no right to fire, as it has not been hanging on a nail since the first scene, but rather smuggled in a second before it went off. That day, Streisand was finished for me as a director and a human being (although not necessarily as an actress or singer). That was over 10 years ago. In a private conversation on Saturday I had an epiphany. Which muppet is modeled after Barbara Streisand? Just think about it – a boundless ego with little talent behind it, which is ready to step over anyone and anything to get its moment of glory. True, Streisand has talent, so the copy is a bit exaggerated, but still – take Streisand’s monumental proboscis, flatten it into a snout, and what do you get? Miss Piggy!!! Miss Piggy is a failed Barbara Streisand – all ambition with little talent to back it up and all the energy in the world to push herself forward. Certainly not kosher. 6:15:44 PM     Some issues with formal education After a long and emotionally grueling day in downtown Brooklyn (yes, there is such an animal), I was coming back to my parents’ apartment in south Brooklyn. It was about 5:00 PM and professional Brooklyn denizens were returning home. I noticed a woman who was reading a textbook. It was an introductory textbook about computers. She was reading the first chapter, which spoke about how to turn the machine on. While I am far from a super techno geek, I was part of the crowd that started fooling around with computers and code in the very early 80s. This is completely subjective but I take issue with people who need to go to school to learn the rudiments of computer science. It always strikes me these people will never have the verve and nerve of those who had to learn on their own. While formal education appears to systematize knowledge, it makes the formal student a somewhat insipid container of knowledge. Now, I am totally cool with professional accountants, lawyers, and certainly doctors going to school to learn their craft. I wonder whether whoever it was that originated accounting (Greeks, Egyptians, help me out here) would get royally annoyed seeing someone on the subway reading about a balance sheet. 6:15:23 PM     Melting Pot turned Cook Top Once more I spent several days in New York, visiting my parents and taking care of some personal business. Personal business aside, I had a chance to sneak in quite a few hours of watching the local Russian TV, including Russian News. Now, that was not a re-transmission of news broadcasts from Russia (although that exists as well). It was locally produced for the local Russian market. I was struck by the almost anachronistic nature of the spectacle. The focus, attention and concern of the newscast (and newscasters) were wholly American. It certainly had it peculiar flavors. The [generalization warning] generally somewhat left leaning inclination of the mainstream American news media was certainly counterbalanced by a very much right leaning of the Russian newscast. But otherwise, the focus was on American news stories and issues that concern the States. For crying out loud, even the sports section started with the NBA and ended with soccer. I may not have the right historical perspective (or learning for that matter), but it strikes me that in olden days (I am thinking back to the 19th and early 20th centuries) immigrant communities were much quicker to integrate into the American mainstream, culturally and linguistically than the do today. While the proverbial melting pot had been producing some fascinating alloys, newcomers to the country were rather eager to jump into it head (and sometimes derriere) first. It is different now. Anyone who had the dubious fortune to check out Brighton Beach knows that the predominant language is Russian, as well as the store front signs, ATM options and the like. Almost every city has its China town that feels like a mini Shanghai. I certainly have a "You’re in America, speak English" side to me. Keeping the old world culture is fine and well (I am working on it rather violently myself), but the point is, if you moved to this country, try to be part of it; it’s for your own good – you don’t end up marginalized either economically or politically. I therefore looked rather askance both at my Russian compatriots as well as the ultra Orthodox variety of my coreligionists, both of whom seem to keep themselves very much apart from the cultural comings and goings of this country. Several hours of watching local Russian news showed a much more complex picture. While keeping clear of the melting pot, the cultural mouthpiece of the Russian community has set up its own piece of crockery, with its own ingredients, but it set it up on the American cook top. The same flame that boils Ozzie and Harriet warms up Boris and Natasha. As the pots stand on adjacent burners, the boiling contents do occasionally appear to spill from one to the other. 6:15:07 PM     The new meanings of warfare – the battle over world opinion The defeated British troops sang, "The World Turned upside down" as they were marched by their rebel captors. I am quite certain that the American tactics of war appeared nearly incomprehensible to the disciplined British who were used to marching in step – chest and bayonet out facing the enemy. The same was probably true of the soldiers confronted for the first time by trenches and poison gas in WWI. Then there was WWII with its city bombing and finally the introduction of unconventional warfare through the dropping of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. While the degree of destructiveness goes on, there is a new element to war, which I don’t think existed as prominently in the past centuries, and that is the front of public opinion. As the world becomes a smaller and smaller place, that particular front becomes quite important. Below, I am giving a translation of an article that appeared in the Israeli Newspaper Ma’ariv. It is an article by a military officer, a doctor, who was with the Israeli forces during the taking of Jenin. After the operation there were wide ranging rumors of a genocide performed by the Israeli army. As far as I know those rumors, trumpeted by Palestinians were proved to be wrong. Nevertheless, there appears to be a movie that was just made about the putative genocide. The article is the reaction of the Israeli physician who was there. While my inclinations and sympathies should be fairly evident I am not trying to prove one side right and another wrong here – that is up to the people examining the evidence. I am fascinated by how people chose to combat each other and this is an example, which may not be readily available in English. Since the piece is a bit long and my time is short, I will publish it over the next several days. Seven lies about Jenin/ Dr. David Tsengen I watched Mohammad Bakhri’s movie "Jenin, Jenin" in a limited forum at a screening with the management of Jerusalem’s cinimatek Leah Van Leer and several journalists. At the end of the private screening I voiced my reaction and pointed out the lies one by one. One of the viewers was furious, "If you do not accept the facts shown in the movie, then you do not understand a thing, and how can you be a physician anyway?" For a minute I forgot that I was at Jenin last April, and that I served as a physician in the army division, and that honorable viewer had rumors as her source of information. Bakhri weaves together lies and half-truths with such an adroit hand that it is very difficult not to be tempted by the distorted picture that he is creating.   I did not manage to convince the management of the Cinimatek to cancel the screening. I was told that the pictures of the destroyed houses are authentic and therefore there is truth in the movie. And anyway, the movie will be screened around the world. I was nevertheless invited to the premiere screening in Jerusalem, and came so that I could explain my position to the audience. Herewith are some of the points I wanted to raise with the audience: The director of the Jenin hospital, Dr. Abu Rali, insists in the movie that the western wing of the hospital was bombed and destroyed and that the Israeli Army intentionally it the electricity and water supplies of the hospital. Well, there is and never was such a wing, and at any rate, no part of the hospital was bombed or blown up. The Israeli soldiers made sure not to enter the perimeter of the hospital, although they knew it served as a refuge for wanted men. We kept the water supply going, as well as electricity and oxygen to the hospital throughout the fighting, and we helped in putting together an emergency generator after the electricity system in the city was damaged. Bakhri himself can be seen in the movie, wandering through the cleanly dept corridors of the hospital, but not in the bombed wing. I met him outside of the screening room and asked him if he had visited the western wing. First he said "no" then corrected himself, "Hold on, you remember the broken glass in the movie, that’s from there." It’s important to note the Abu Rali acts as one of the "Authorized sources" for the establishment of the "genocide." At the beginning of the operation he was interviewed by Al-Jezira and spoke of "thousands killed." Another impressive scene in the movie is an interview with a 75 year old Jenin resident, who is crying bitterly because he was pulled out of bed in the middle of the night, shot in his hand, and after he failed to obey the soldiers’ orders, was shot in his leg. I met the very same old man when he was brought to me after an operation for clearing one of the houses of a Hamas ring in the refugee camp. He indeed had a light hand wound, and suffered from a scratch on his leg (no bullet wound, that is for certain). The Israeli soldiers transferred him to a secure station for treating the wounded, and there he was treated, among others, by myself. One of the doctors noticed an irregularity in his heart beat. We suggested transferring him to the Emek hospital in Afula. He asked to be treated in a Jenin hospital, as he did not speak Hebrew. After the Jenin hospital refused to admit him, we transferred him to Afula, where he spent three days in an internal department for treating heart disease and anemia from which he suffered as a result of a chronic illness. Another interviewee is telling of an infant that was hurt from a bullet shot in his chest, gone through his body and opened a hole in his back. The body of such an infant was never found. Further, if there such an injury were to take place it would have been fatal, and evacuating the child to a hospital would not have saved its life. What is the infant’s name? Where has the body gone? The same interviewee is telling that he has "opened" a breathing path in the neck of another child that was injured. Again, a total fabrication. Such an operation cannot be performed with a finger. This "witness" is also telling that that tanks drove over people again and again until they were completely crushed – nothing of this sort ever took place. The movie it mentioning mass graves that the Israeli army dug fro the killed Palestinians. All the international organizations that investigated the events in Jenin agree that there were 52 Palestinians killed, and all the bodies were transferred to the Palestinians for burial. Bakhri never bothers to point out the location of the supposed graves. The movie mentions Israeli planes that supposedly bombed the city. There were no planes. In order to avoid civilian casualties, helicopter concentrated fire was used. It should be mentioned that Bakhri was not present in Jenin during the operation and got there only two weeks after it was completed. In his pictures, Bakhri shows the ruined center of town in such a way that it appears much larger than it actually was. All Shahid pictures and Islamic Jihad slogans that were on the house walls during the operation were cleared off. Again and again, the movie is making a manipulative use of tank pictures that were taken elsewhere, and splices them artificially with pictures of Palestinian children. Overall we are talking about a gross, albeit well executed, manipulation. At the end of the screening, Bakhri received loud applause. Bakhri turned to the audience as asked them if there were any questions. I presented myself, rose to the stage and started to systematically enumerate the lies and inconsistencies found in the movie. First there was murmur in the crowd, and then there were cries of derision, and I got called "a murderer," "war criminal" and many other things. Before I managed to complete my second point, a man from the audience rose to the stage and tried to grab the microphone out of my hand. I decided not to react violently. I let him take the microphone and got off the stage. I was surprised that very few members of the audience rose to defend freedom of speech and expression. I was amazed to see an audience that was not wiling to hear the opinions of someone who was physically present during the operation. As a man, a father and a physician, it was difficult for me to hear my people calling me a murderer. I had said that I did not murder anyone, but the cries got louder, and a felt a great hatred directed at me. I am not sorry, though, that I came to the Cinimatek that night. I am certain that there were other people who heard my questions, and their feelings were towards the "facts" that they saw were changed. I am certain that there were other people that were amazed at the lack of tolerance that was demonstrated by the audience, but still it is difficult for me to believe that they were in the minority. Allow me to say what I did not manage to say to the audience that night. I am proud that I was a member of the excellent and moral fighting force that operated in Jenin. Those were active duty and reserve soldiers, motivated and willing to destroy the infrastructure of terror in its capital. Jenin was the source of many of the suicide bombers who murdered children, women and old men in our streets. I am proud that we were there and that we fought, and am proud in morality of our fighting. The camp was not bombed from the air to avoid the killing of innocents. No use was made of artillery, although we knew of concentrated areas where terrorists were hiding. The soldiers fought terrorists and terrorists alone. Several warnings were given before the destruction of a house out of which hell fire was being directed at our soldiers; every opportunity was given to anyone who wished to leave the house with no injury to them. The medical team gave aid to every injured person, even if they had Hamas tattoos on their hands. At no stage was medical aid denied to anyone. The fighting was both moral and heroic, and cost us some of the best of our fighters. Those of us who were the, their families and the Israeli army, we do not deserve that Mohammad Bakhri turns the world against us. End of the article. Once again, I’d like to stress that the text published yesterday and today is not intended as an argument, but rather as an illustration of the front, for public opinion that is taking place.   6:14:42 PM     The temperature is solidly in the 30s, the weather is solidly londonesque, which means only one thing – it is time to start burning wood in the fireplace. As luck would have it, I just inherited half a cord of wood from a friend who is moving. Never having spent any significant time with the boy scouts, I need some kind of kindling to get a fire going. Thus, it may have been the ingenious nature of my shopping trip that brought some disturbing, if not heretical thoughts. I don’t know about you, but even with the inspectors having booked their pleasure trip between the Tigers and Euphrates, a war in Ur is still very much a possibility. ‘Can we fight it?’ I thought to myself as I was driving home with a trunk full of Duraflame products. More precisely, do we have people with experience who can run the show? I think our chances are decent as far as aerial warfare goes – after all, we’ve been bombing Iraq for about a decade, so our pilots have had plenty of real life experience. The highest levels of military command are all Vietnam veterans, so they have plenty of field command experience. How about people on the ground though? The Gulf War was not long enough to create a cadre of experienced people. Neither were any of our altercations over the course of the last 27 years or so, since the end of the Vietnam War. Hmm… a bit uncomfortable there. None of the Vietnam veterans are of fighting age, so for all intents and purposes our forces may be well trained, but thoroughly lacking in real life fighting experience. I loathe war. In that sense the fact that we don’t have hundreds of thousands of young men with blood on their hands is a very positive thing. At the same time I have to admit that for the same reason, we are much less prepared to fight than we would have been a generation ago where a bunch of service age Vietnam veterans were kicking around. At that juncture of my contemplative narrative the mind wandered off completely, and the thought arose that maybe our Jungian collective consciousness pushes us towards war so that we have fighting experience whenever it feels that as a people we are unprepared to fight if the necessity arose. 6:12:32 PM     Prejudices forming perceptions/opinions The other day, while watching TV, I saw an ad for a Mac G3. This Asian looking dude was going on and on about how easy the Mac is to use, and how it’s great for him since he is such a non-technical person. I was trying to determine whether the commercial is really smart or really stupid. The guy looks Chinese or Japanese, I was thinking to myself, and the general perception of Asians is that they are very smart and technically savvy (which in my experience has been true). So why are they portraying an Asian guy as technically challenged? As I was thinking about that, the commercial was coming to a close. At the very end the guy identifies himself – he’s Yo-Yo Ma. Duh!!! 6:12:15 PM     My new obsession I’d like to think that my recent obsession with Enterprise’s T’Pol is not purely a function of the almost fantastic ratio of her bust and waist, augmented by the body suit that passes for a Vulcan sub commander uniform. Upon reflection I have to admit several things: The said ratio has much to do with it all and cannot be excluded from the picture completely. What gives her the particular edge that I find so titillating is T’Pol’s demeanor, which is supposedly completely lacking in sexuality. OK, I grew up on Star Trek and always thought Vulcans to be exceedingly cool. This is the first time that I am seeing a Vulcan female as a central character in a Star Trek series. Since the actress is as female as they come, the contrast between that fact and any lack of ostensible sexual behavior is very gripping. There was always some kind of a leitmotif of a relationship going on between Dr. Crusher and Picard, and more than a leitmotif between Riker and Troi (who earns the least attractive derriere award). I think it is because T’Pol is inaccessible by definition, and because the actress plays the Vulcan character with a stated understatement – not only emotions, but even her voice is a register lower than you’d expect – that she poses a particular type of attraction. A relationship with a man is always a possibility for all the Star Trek women I’ve seen (and most TV female characters). T’Pol must have her once in a sever year thing and that is it. All of a sudden the viewer (me) feels he is not needed in a most fundamental way as a potential mate, and it is then, 6:12:02 PM     Who needs Soap Operas any longer? I wonder if commercial revenues are falling for the TV stations that play soap operas, with advertisers frantically moving their money to CNN and the press. I mean, come on, who needs to follow the improbable lives of improbably looking people who, as a rule, can’t act to save their lives, when much more fantastic events can be gleaned from the pages of the New York Times? The stakes, I might add, are higher as well – nuclear war, the fate of the global economy, a complete geo-political reshuffling of the Middle East, yea baby! And if you are going to object by saying that there is not enough outrageous drama and histrionics in the news, I will promptly direct you to the news article where Russia’s president Putin offers to perform a circumcision on a journalist (I can see Star and the National Enquirer getting on the scene with something like "Pres turned moyel – skin that foreskin!"). Part of it all is the very undemocratic phenomenon of megalomania that tends to develop when leaders of countries don’t face the possibility of being voted out of office. Stalin, Hitler, Mao, and now cuddly Sadam. I have no doubt that Alexander the Great, along with many a Roman emperor deemed himself a god. You should have seen the unbelievable panegyrics that were written about Stalin and Ceausescu – all about them being the Sun for their people, the greatest scientists, linguists, geniuses and lights of the ages. No degree of cynicism can insulate a person from something like that. After a year or a decade of that stuff I don’t care who you are, you start believing that crap yourself. So, a world without dictators will be quite boring. Being the epitome of dullness myself, I strive for just such a world, and am all hope we will achieve it sooner than later. But in the meanwhile, enjoy the show! 6:11:36 PM     An article in today’s NYT about changes that occurred in the English language over the last nine years underscored the idea that we are being moved culturally into an interesting, if somewhat contradictory, state. As I think about "History through multimedia," for me the world breaks down into two fairly distinct epochs – before and after talkie newsreels of the 1930’s. Early this year I was in the Holocaust museum in Washington DC. Among other things I saw a newsreel from the 30s where Herbert Hoover gives an impromptu interview, condemning Nazi prosecutions against national and racial minorities. I’ve seen a fair amount of Hoover in still photos and earlier newsreel – the type where everyone seems to be moving faster than life because they were using fewer frames per minute. It was a shock to see Hoover talking and moving like a normal human being. Through certain technological advances, more recent history never appears as old as older history. Now, I am assuming that for someone living in say the late 40s, where the Hoover newsreel was a fairly recent event, the difference between a 20’s and a 30s newsreel was fairly similar as it is to me. In other words, something from the 20s appeared as much older than something from the 30s. Ever since something from say 1929 seems infinitely older than something from 1935 – the difference being only 6 years. The difference is not nearly as great as between newsreel from ’35 and ’41, ’41 and ’47, etc. Because of our ability to preserve the past much more effectively than ever before, we have expanded the present. While a hundred years ago or so, the only way to capture the past was through still photographs, today we have home videos – people moving, talking and pontificating in crisp color and stereo sound. The article mentioned above talks about how the old rules for judging whether a particular word has become a part of everyday language has changed. The article goes on to say that words are becoming part of the language quicker, gaining pervasiveness with great rapidity. I am curious as to what type of cultural and psychological changes this movement from a diachronous to a synchronous existence will bring about? I think that the general tendency will be against finality of any kind of action; we are experiencing an psychological and moral movement towards some sort of a universal "undo" button that will allow to render the current moment into oblivion and move into the safety of the moment before. 6:11:20 PM     Flying High on Saturday As is my wont on Saturdays, I got up early, built a fire and performed a ritual burning of my GAP purchased leather jacket. Once that part of my morning routine was completed, I washed thoroughly (no shaving though), donned my trusty (if somewhat frayed) tweed jacket and old jeans, all covered with ink and encrusted with wax (I write my masterpieces with a goose quill by candle light. The results are veritable palimpsests as I only use paper from 18th century Russian periodicals, which I had purloined from the stacks of major Ivy League universities). Being thus decked to the gills, as they say in my favorite dolphinaira, I embarked upon a life altering experience. As most of you have guessed by now, I went to watch Tarkovsky’s "Andrey Rublev" on the (somewhat) big screen in the Brattle Theatre in Cambridge. My only problem with Tarkovsky is that he plays into the impossibly inflated conceit that many of my compatriots suffer from. I have heard Russians whose relationship to the arts parallels that of a eunuch to syphilis exclaim upon entering an American video rental store for the first time: "One of Tarkovsky’s movies is better than all of these put together!" (Accompanied by Russian pathos and a grand sweep of an unwashed arm). Having thus cleared my conscience I can proceed with the actual experience. This is the fifth Tarkovsky movie I have seen so far. The others are "Solaris," "Ivan’s childhood," "Stalker" and "Nostalgia." In an almost absurd way, Tarkovsky has managed to be the ultimate creator in an environment of ultimate oppression. In his movies, and this is especially evident in "Andrey Rublev," Tarkovsky shows no concern for anything but what he wants to achieve. The content (including unthinkable frontal nudity in a ’69 Soviet movie, the portrayal of religion as a catalyst of creativity rather than the Party dictated "Opiate for the people", etc.), and the pacing (the movie is over 3 hours long) have no concern for the Soviet censor. As a result, the movie lay "on the shelf" for many years, and was finally shown in a drastically cut version. But at the end the movie, in its complete form, is being shown to audiences around the world, and in that sense, Tarkovsky triumphed over the mechanism of Social Realism. So what was the life altering stuff? The way I see it, true art is the process whereby that which is fundamentally incomprehensible (call it what you wish – the mystery of life, God, quest for truth) is made apprehensible to an audience by an artist. I am trying to choose my words as carefully as I can. The mystery, which art reveals is not something that we necessarily understand (I dare say that we necessarily do not, and by our nature cannot understand it). Art does not explain, but enables us to see, experience, and thereby for a short period of time to be a part of the "Great Mystery." In that respect, the experience of art is indistinguishable from a genuine religious experience. Needless to say that both experiences are extremely rare. In "Andrey Rublev" Tarkovsky brought me as close to the direct experience of the "Mystery" I described in the paragraph above. Since I am tired of putting "Mystery" in quotations marks, I will use the term Alterity to denote the otherness, other worldliness that we sense with an emotional equivalence of a peripheral vision, but seldom stare at directly. To varying degrees, much of humanity senses with a kind of a "gut feeling" that the grasping of said Alterity is necessary for true quality experience. Hence religion, art, and recreational drugs. Back to Tarkovsky. One of the biggest mistakes of contemporary art is that by recognizing the fact that Alterity cannot be apprehended it tended towards extreme incomprehension and almost impossible minimalism. As a consequence, much of contemporary art is boring, and too often the only person who benefits from it is the artist him or herself. That is fine but hardly productive. Tarkovsky approaches the problem from a completely different direction. Rather than make the discussion of the inexpressible into an incomprehensive mush (thereby making the point that what he is talking about cannot be communicated or perceived) he focuses on the problem before him and makes that problem the subject of his movie – the artist, his need for self expression and the challenges heaped in front of him by the very nature of what he wants to achieve. Once again, to make the subject real, Tarkovsky places his movie in a specific time and place (Russian of the early 15th century), dealing with a specific individual, Andrey Rublev, a famed Icon painter. The challenges are also manifest themselves as earthly rather than purely artistic – the Tartar hordes that assail pillage and rape throughout Russia. Tarkovsky takes his time to draw a luscious tapestry. The torment of the artist that wants to create, but who will not create unless he feels that he is dipping into a true source is laid out through stark images of consequences for those who do not adhere to the same high standards. Rublev survives while other people (and artists) are gruesomely blinded, killed, tortured and raped. The willingness to be completely true to oneself and one’s art pays at the end (at least in the Gospel according to Tarkovsky); at the end Rublev finds his "voice" through beholding the determination of a young bell caster to cast the perfect bell. There is almost no end to the horror one has to go through to "get there" but at the end the triumph completely overshadows any travails. Tarkovsky’s achievement is in managing to imbue the viewer with what the director and the half imaginary hero go through and (most importantly, otherwise this could have been a Charlton Heston historical saga) ultimately achieve. At the end of the movie, one has apprehended the sense, the state of being that is entailed by true creativity. There is little else we can ask for in that particular venue. 6:11:04 PM     Klingon Linguistics As a matter of fact this week has been so busy that I neglected to comment on one of Raven’s entry – a venial albeit serious sin. Nigh daily job interviews and follow-ups were conjugated with a very persistent virus/flu/cold that left me somewhat shaken if not altogether stirred. To that point, I somehow managed to miss Raven’s Monday entry where he raises a couple of interesting questions: How important is it to preserve every language out there just in case it has a unique concept not found in any other language, and whether our thoughts are totally shaped by the language we happen to speak as Sapir and Whorf are claiming. At the end of the entry, Raven asked for the bilingual crowd to respond to this question. Ultimately, I don’t think that an unequivocal answer is possible. The reason is that we are trying to examine the mechanism by which we are doing the actual examination. Since we cannot step out of our own mental constructs and the tools wherewith those constructs are made (language, thought), all discussion, however insightful, is an observation and at best an approximation. Having said that I will immediately posit an answer. Our personalities and mental modes are inextricably connected with the language we use, which in turn is an integral element of the culture of the language user. As someone who is almost trilingual (I started using English too late in life to have the same immediacy in my emotional connection with it as I have with my first two languages), I can attest that I am a different person in each of the languages I speak. In that sense, I claim that all people who are native in more than one language suffer from various degrees of schizophrenia, and should not be held accountable for anything that they do which is wrong, offensive or disagreeable. Every language has a particular personality, which it imposes on its users. In specific cases, different words generate different ideas and modes of behavior. Very often words can be readily translated from one language to another. When words are untranslatable, we can see how the existence of a word in one language and the absence in another changes the way people think and behave. I shall give one specific example. The word I am thinking about is the Russian word Powlost; ("Poshlost’"). Vladimir Nabokov goes on about it, especially in his book about Gogol. English, the richest Hindu European language vocabulary wise, does not have an equivalent word. "Poshlost’" is a state of mind, a state of being. It is the crude behavior and worldview of an ignoramus, a smugly self-satisfied boor and brute. It is the tastelessly ostentatious attire and abode of a newly rich yokel who wants to show the world that he is not only as good as anyone, but even better. I can go on about it in English, probably coming fairly close to the meaning of the concept, but I cannot capture it in one noun or verb. Consequently, "Poshloe" behavior and "Poshye" people are not only central to many Russian works of art, but is part of how people regard and categorize each other. The negative term "Poshljak" condemns a person in innumerable ways, conveying the negative attitude, and contempt. Can’t quite do it in English, or at least not in the same way. I do think that equivalents of Kant’s noumena and Plato’s forms exist (mentally or psychologically, NOT metaphysically). Whether language was necessary to generate them to begin with or not is beyond me at this point, and it may not matter for the purposes of this discussion. What’s important is that some (not all) concepts can be experienced in a trans or supra linguistic sense. I may have mentioned it in another blog, but it is a perfect example of what I am talking about, so I will mention it again. Too many years ago, when I was still living in Israel, I took my dog for a walk. It was dark and my mind was wondering. For some reason I became preoccupied with the word "Starch" (as what you put on your shirts in the dry cleaner’s). I remembered the word in one language (at this point I don’t recall whether it was Russian or Hebrew), but for the life of me, I could not recall it in the other language. So I played a trick. I invoked the childhood association for the word (in my case it happens to be Mary Poppins’s starched apron). I let go of the word and just let the association, the emotional makeup of it, hover above me as it were. Then I took that "patch of emotion" and dropped it on the other language. And lo and behold, the word I was looking for materialized, being inextricably connected to the association that was generated in the first language (for the curious, the Russian word is "Krakhmal" and the Hebrew equivalent is "Amilan."). It appears that the "essence" of the word existed outside of the specific verbal sounds that exemplified (a signified independent of a signifier). As I said at the beginning, I do not know whether a final answer can be given, but there is no doubt that different languages produce different people with different emotional and even intellectual characteristics. Further, the same person who is native (rather than just fluent) in more than one language will be a somewhat 6:10:51 PM     Do not panic – gridlock is not going away   Yesterday’s episode of "West Wing" shows a Democratic presidential victory. It was a bit ironic that the airing followed the day where the Democrats lost the Senate to the Republicans. Now, I don’t know whether the story about President Washington and the saucer of milk is true, but personally, I am all in favor of having several governmental bodies holding each other down and in check. The public (that saturnalian, orgiastic hydra) has an almost intuitive understanding that by placing competing riders on the horses that carry the chariot of state, we end up riding very slowly (each rider pushing in a different direction), but on the other hand, no one gets the opportunity to gallop down an abyss. So, in the fair Commonwealth of Massachusetts, we happily continue an over decade long tradition of electing a Republican governor and a Democratic.   All of a sudden, though, we have the Executive and both Houses controlled by one party. Is there all of a sudden one rider, one gallon hat cowboy who can gallop wherever he wishes? I really don’t think so. Yes, sanguinary Democrats will not be able to butcher new born laws in committee as easily as before, but in the final account voting is done on the floor, and in the Senate the Republicans have an impossibly slim size 1 majority. There is also the "I have been beaten and now I am really pissed" factor. From glancing through NYT this morning and lending an ear to NPR, it sounds like the Democrats feel they have not been as emphatic in moving away from Republican positions – taxes and Iraq most notably. It may very well be fair to assume that the Democratic side of the new Congress will be much more combative than the last one.   In essence, this entry is intended as a valerian drop (to calm you if you are a human, but if you are a cat I am not responsible) of sorts. Being a bit of a closet Libertarian, I relish in the ineffectualness of our government. I find the slow pace in which Washington moves a reflection of the wisdom in which the American political institutions have been set up – a system that makes it very difficult (not impossible, nothing is impossible) for one entity to take control over everything. As an aside I must say that the notion that the country is being controlled by one particular special interest is ludicrous. Take big money – if anyone has sat at a board or executive meeting he or she knows how ruthlessly big money people fight and bicker among themselves; to assume that they could agree enough to formulate any type of plan for overall control of the country defies both reality and imagination. The other one is about the Jews running the place. My co-religionists live on strife and contention (anyone checked recently on the happenings in Israeli politics?). The old adage about two Jews having three opinions is not that far from the truth.   But I digress. The election results should not overly dishearten Democrats, nor disproportionably enthuse Republicans. Just as before, things will plod along – lazily, ineffectually, ridiculously, and oh, so beautifully. 6:10:30 PM     Two Months Later It appears that many respected and respectable bloggers feel the need to reflect upon the peculiar institution of blogging at their two-month anniversary of bloggage. Not one to break away with tradition I shall follow suite. The experience has been decidedly positive on a variety of fronts. Primarily, it has been one of exposure. For starters a sedulous bloggger is exposed to him/her self. The need to come up with something that resembles a thought or a reflection that may be of interest to both self and others, brings upon a mental activity that otherwise may not take place. For about a month before starting this blog I felt compelled to jot down random thoughts (McFate’s adumbration?) so the transition was quite natural. Then, of course, there is the connection with other people, both bloggers and commentators. That has been singularly rewarding, as there is a rather high concentration of intelligence in this particular space, something that I seek out with an almost frantic desperation. And finally, there is the purely human connection with some known and some unknown individuals. For the people I know, but with whom I don’t find the time to communicate daily, this allows me a glimpse into their minds on a regular basis. If they are people for whom I care deeply then such glimpses are priceless. If they are not, I get to know their most essential aspect (as far as I am concerned) – their active minds. So, onwards it goes. 6:10:18 PM     Bring out your vote, bring out your vote The somewhat doleful statistic of the percentage of the population that actually votes in national and municipal elections is reminiscent of the scene in Monty Python’s "The Holly Grail" to which I am alluding in the title of this entry. I can relate. Sometimes the choices we are faced with are akin to shooting yourself in the stomach versus shooting yourself in the head. Come to think of it though, even in such instances the consequences are different – quick versus slow and agonizing death (and sometimes one of the choices is like shooting yourself in the foot – so you can sort of limp along). Seriously now. While some people view me as hopeless (or hapless) idealist in certain departments, the voting process is as pragmatic as William James in a jar. For starters, unlike the poor wretches in Iraq we do have a choice of who will run the show (even more than one if the Greens and Libertarians manage to get into the fray). Then, regardless of whether you feel that entrenched bureaucrats and special interest money pushers run the show anyway (and they often do), extreme circumstances call for your elected official to lead (q.v. the situation we are in post 9/11). One also might feel, as I do, that different candidates and their respective parties do offer actual alternatives as to how the show is run. Finally, one might like one candidate over another on purely aesthetic or personality levels. After all, that person represents you – who would you like that to be? Failing to vote also takes away the right to complain, bitch, moan and kvetch about the doing of your government – I don’t know about you, but that would make life oh so dull! Being of the naturalized variety I view voting rights as something I had to work for (who was the 16th president again?). Also, if I did not participate in the election process, I cannot rail on what the politicians are doing and… oh, I said that already. Having burned all the witches several hundred years ago, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts is actually facing some vital issues. The two candidates for governor represent very different worldviews and approaches to solving said problems (one is a career politician, the other a Venture Capitalist turned Olympics Games impresario). The difference is worth a trip to the polling booth, and it can’t be that different in other places, not even in Berkeley…. 6:09:41 PM     Stumbling upon Eco In this Sunday’s NYT’s book review section there is a review of a new novel by Umberto Eco – "Baudolino." Eco’s commercial success stands as a beacon of hope for frustrated academics, linguistic jugglers and trivia aficionados. My first encounter with Eco came through the dramatization of his "Name of the Rose." The movie, very amply subtitled "A Palimpsest" sported an excellent Sean Connery, a series of rather exotic looking character actors (among them the son of the famous Basso Fyodor Shalyapin) as well as a greatly titillating sex scene. I came upon the book in somewhat unusual circumstances. It was the year of our Lord 1991, and I was withering from heat and boredom in the Saudi desert, cleaning my rifle and waiting for Saddam’s Republican Guard to show some vicious non-Democratic behavior. Finally, boredom was alleviated through a book shipment to our troops. Among the books was "The Name of the Rose." As those of you who both read the book and saw the movie know, there is much more to the book in terms of depth of ideas as well as breadth of plot. There is also very GRE like vocabulary, which I valiantly confronted with the help of my trusty large pocket dictionary. The one rather frustrating thing about the book was the fact that the Latin was not translated at all into English (something which was rectified in the Russian edition, but the people State side did not know of my particular needs and neglected to send me the Russian translation). Then one day, horror of horrors, someone stole my dictionary (and who said that one does not find veritable intellectuals among Marines! The purloiner must have wanted to be my friend as well – no one steals your books but your friends). Thus the joy of reading was hampered by my still creaking English and the intervening Latin – the book ends something like, "and it all boiled down to " followed by a bunch of Latin. I enjoyed the book sufficiently to find Eco’s second book – "Foucault’s Pendulum," which my Staff Sergeant was reading (I an telling you, I had quite the brainy crowd there with me). I am still baffled how anyone who at some point in his of her life did not waste many an hour on mystical schools and teachings (like Kat and her Tarots). The book began with a quote in Hebrew from some Kabalistic text of other. The lack of dictionary was again more than palpable. The war was over before anyone could say "Salaam Aleykum." Thankfully, the most traumatic experience was a screening of Gallipoli (the fact that Mel Gibson was starring confused the good folks who chose the movies to show us). I picked up Eco’s 3rd book immediately upon its publication in the States. This time I had to pay for it, but I cheated just a bit. I went to the Strand bookstore – the source of all good things and the consumer of an inordinate percentage of my humble income. For those of you who are interested, in the basement of the Strand (the store is located on the corner of Broadway and 12th Street in NYC, right next to Union Square) one can find brand new books for half the cover price – a lot of them are reviewer copies. If memory serves, at the same time I bought the book, I also went to see Christopher Plummer’s one man show where he plays John Barrymore – a masterful performance which left an indelible impression. At the time I was no longer living in NYC (I was in Grad school in Connecticut), but would visit the place regularly (parents, paramours). I read the book on a trip back and forth from Israel – it was December of ’95 – where I went to attend my best friend’s wedding – a curious experience in and of itself, visiting the country for the first time since I’d left it in ’86. So, I will probably descend on the Strand again when I am in New York this in a couple of weeks. So far Eco has batted three out of three, and the NYT review leads me to believe that the fourth will be a winner as well. There are few things better than an author, shamelessly playful with his language and erudition, who has the literary talent to pull it through. 6:04:16 PM     Will Life imitate Art? Pat and I agreed yesterday that the "West Wing" episode that aired on Wednesday was particularly good.  The thing that impressed me, or got to me, was not the usual trapping that makes the show the only one I watch on a regular basis -- writing, acting, etc.  While I most emphatically disagree with many of the stated policy of the Democratic White House depicted in the series, there is a quality of charisma in Martin Sheen's president that could make one admire him even if one were to disagree with the direction he is taking -- that was to a large degree how I felt about Clinton. It appears that many good gangster movies inspired the gangsters themselves.  Mafiosi would meet with the actors who depicted them in movies and would ask them questions about where they got their clothes, check out how they wore their hats, tied their ties, matched shirts to socks, etc.  Then the Mafiosi would promptly order the same clothes, etc.  Not to equate the two situations, but I am really curious whether over the last 4 years (or however long the show has been running), denizens of the West Wing have been imitating their silver screen simulacra.  In this particular case, it would not be such a bad thing. 6:03:50 PM     The crux of the conflict No, this one has nothing to do with the Middle East, Iraq or any of those vegetables.  This one is about labor relations.  I am doing some reading on the exciting topic of Supply Chain Management -- known to the aficionados as "SCM."  It deals with the operational logistics of manufacturing and distribution.  One of the major issues is the efficiency of minimizing inventory in warehouses and stores and maximizing turn around.  Clearly, questions of efficiency are more often than not resolved through the closing and opening of manufacturing facilities. The question that is never asked in textbooks and industry articles is what effect the closing (and opening) of manufacturing and distribution facilities has on the local population.  To take this further, are such questions legitimate?  Should the effect of closing a manufacturing plant and moving it to a different state (or country for that matter) take into account the effect on the people that have been working in the old plant or that will be working in the new one?  Before our knees do the work for us and we all shout a loud "YES" -- after all on the one hand we are talking about people and their livelihood and on the other hand there is an accountant’s book -- what if the local community that will suffer from the closing of a plant is also heavily invested in the stock of the company itself?  What if keeping the plant in operation drives the company stock down, hurting everyone around it (including the locals) financially?  Forgetting the moral "ought" for a second, may there be a legal obligation not to close a facility if it can be proven that keeping it open will not hurt the company too much (whatever that means), but closing it will hurt the local population?  And if the answer is "Yes," is it okay to prohibit people from patronizing a somewhat distant super market to the detriment of the local grocery store?  Must we deal in absolute terms (a free economy cannot bind people to deal with others against their own will) or can a general formula be worked out where economic freedoms can be curbed for the general benefit (whatever that is)? 6:03:27 PM     The Bush Doctrine, whassup with that? I find the central assertion of the doctrine, as well as the criticism of said assertion to be a bit absurd. The notion that the US will be able to maintain its hegemony as the one superpower through the use of force is quite ludicrous. A cursory examination of history shows that no country, however strong, managed to maintain a perpetual hegemony through its military might (or any might for that matter). In that sense, stating that the world is a better place because we are the biggest kid of the block and so we will actively discourage other countries from acquiring a military capability that could rival ours is plain silly. On the other hand, it is equally ludicrous to assume that a country that has reached the position of hegemony will not do its best to maintain it. In a sense, the Bush doctrine is a bit naïve, but makes perfect sense; its efficacy will eventually kick the bucket, but so will all of us. What might be surprising, and considered in bad taste, is such an open parading of our intentions. While it may not necessarily agree with my personal sensibilities, it may be just the type of posturing that radical Islamists will take seriously, I don’t know. After all, after we showed unbridled aggression in Afghanistan, the Pan Arab press was full of articles on how serious and right the Americans are – it was quite amusing, actually. So, the maven kopfs in the White House may have decided that by stating that we will not hesitate to whip into shape anyone whom we deem a threat will work to stymie our enemies. If it does, more power to them (the White House, not the enemies). But let’s not get all high and mighty about the doctrine – there is nothing particularly new or innovative about it – it is a policy that has been and will continue to be practiced by anyone who’s got any muscle. 6:02:59 PM     The wonders of the Net Raven had an issue with an Opossum barricading itself in his garage.  Like any normal early 21st century person, the Net was consulted on how to deal with the situation -- and the Net provided good answers.  It is incredible what you can find at a stroke of several keys.  Last year my wife and I had a rather formal dinner gathering.  Wanting to make everything quite perfect we wanted the napkins to be folded in some formal, perfect White House kind of way.  Well, sure enough, a quick search provided us with several sites wherein step-by-step directions for napkin folding were provided. Several other searches that I conducted out of purely abstract curiosity, yielded some fascinating results, which I cannot quite quote here, this blog being rated for family viewing... 6:02:32 PM     Pagan Week Halloween being just a few days away, this week feels rather removed from the pervasive monotheism we generally practice in the Western Hemisphere.  On Sunday, just out of morbid curiosity, I attended a religious service that could be described as pagan.  Not being a practitioner of any particular religion, or an adherent of any supernatural dogma, I try to view any kind of service as objectively as possible from the vantage point of "what do the parishioners get out of it?"  Well, I have to say that the Pagan approach manages to invoke a very strong sense of belonging to primordial powers that are fundamentally outside our ken (I feel beholden to run and read "The Golden Bough" right about now).  The almost purely emotional response to chants and rituals that make you a part of ancient and strong creative forces provided a surprising sense of calm and equanimity.  There was a sense that one was a holder of some kind of great wisdom -- you had no idea what it was, but somehow you were wise nevertheless. As for me, I need to understand way to much to feel comfortable to "abandon" myself to anything I cannot think through, so this was not my cup of tea (or shot of vodka, as the case might be).  Nevertheless, I can now understand the appeal. Pagan Week Halloween being just a few days away, this week feels rather removed from the pervasive monotheism we generally practice in the Western Hemisphere.  On Sunday, just out of morbid curiosity, I attended a religious service that could be described as pagan.  Not being a practitioner of any particular religion, or an adherent of any supernatural dogma, I try to view any kind of service as objectively as possible from the vantage point of "what do the parishioners get out of it?"  Well, I have to say that the Pagan approach manages to invoke a very strong sense of belonging to primordial powers that are fundamentally outside our ken (I feel beholden to run and read "The Golden Bough" right about now).  The almost purely emotional response to chants and rituals that make you a part of ancient and strong creative forces provided a surprising sense of calm and equanimity.  There was a sense that one was a holder of some kind of great wisdom -- you had no idea what it was, but somehow you were wise nevertheless. As for me, I need to understand way to much to feel comfortable to "abandon" myself to anything I cannot think through, so this was not my cup of tea (or shot of vodka, as the case might be).  Nevertheless, I can now understand the appeal. 6:02:00 PM     Why Gore Vidal got it wrong, and why it does not matter I am currently on my fourth Gore Vidal book, "Lincoln," after having consumed "Washington DC," "Burr" and "The Smithsonian Institution." While I have the full intention of completing the rest of his American History series ("1876," "Empire," "Hollywood" and "Golden Age" if I am not mistaken), I feel from the books already read (and from his essays) that I got one of his major themes – from its very inception by the Founding Fathers and throughout its history, the United States has always been an Empire, no different from the British, Spanish and French. Judging from the title of this blog, I disagree with Vidal, although, in a certain aspect I also agree with him very strongly. Before I confuse myself and anyone who is attempting to read this entry, let me try and clarify things by providing some definitions. One way to look at the concept of an Empire is as a political entity that seeks to expand its territory through the forceful subjugation of other sovereign countries, making said countries either an integral part of its territory, or controlling them through the force of arms for its own economic and political benefit. Another way to look at an Empire is as an organizing principle of some entity that is assumed by other entities, which are initially in opposition to it. This second, much broader definition makes no assumption as to the nature of the organizing principle, or of the entities that assume it, or on the manner in which it is being inculcated. This, broader, definition can certainly apply to a country that is expanding territorially, as well as to a set of ideas which are being assumed by people, organization, institutions, et cetera. This second definition would apply to the Roman Empire, Aristotleianism during the Middle Ages, Platonism during the Renaissance, Beatle mania during the 60s, you name it. As far as the US goes, while it fits the second definition of an Empire, it does not fit the first one. Oh, sure, we had our moments. We’ve certainly played around with Manifest Destiny at the turn of the last century, and there is no question that many a politician in the 19th century regarded Mexico (and sometimes Canada) as a rather dainty morsel. But I find it difficult to point to a consistent policy, and more importantly, ideology that drove the US towards territorial expansion. From Washington’s departure address to the Monroe Doctrine, to the strong opposition to the entry into both World Wars, America has exhibited a very palpable aversion to imposing itself militarily on other countries. That is not to say we have not been viewing ourselves as the "Light for the gentiles." There is very little doubt that from the political, economic, moral and, formerly more than now, religious stand points we have been seeing ourselves as often superior to the rest of the world. Furthermore, we do not tire of letting the world know of where we stand, nor do we ever stop pushing our wares on said wary world (especially on the economic front). So one might say that we are an Empire after all, by the second definition if not by the first. And, like I said, I will readily agree. I think there is a large qualitative difference between the two definitions. The first one relies on physical force, the second one does not, and that, on some level, makes all the difference. In that sense, I would also make the claim that there is nothing wrong (or very little wrong) with the second type of Empire, whereas the first one is in the business of spilling a great deal of blood. The fighting is also qualitatively different. On the one hand we have the straightforward clash of arms. On the other hand, we have the full panoply of human endeavor – intellectual, economic, political, moral, aesthetic, culinary (think of all the MacDonald’s all over the world opposed by the "Slow food movement") you name it. While the first type of empire brings about a great deal of ruin, the tension and contention caused by the second type act as a catalyst for development on all the levels on which the Empire is trying to expand. In that sense its effects could be viewed as extremely positive – energizing the flux and keeping humanity from the inevitable stagnation that comes about through the lack of challenge. Back to the writer under discussion. I am fairly certain that Gore Vidal views America as an Empire in the first, not the second sense. The fact that he is wrong (or may be wrong, assuming just for a split second that the author of these lines is capable of error – a silly notion, but what the heck, it’s Friday) does not alter the elemental strength of his talent in depicting the people, forces, ideals and passions that fashioned this country. Vidal often shows how many notable figures of American history, from Jefferson to Lincoln were not the pure embodiment of the principle for which they argued. While this fact may be viewed as a contradiction of the validity of the principles themselves, I think it merely shows that the people who were attempting to practice them were human, with all the foibles and contradictions associated with that peculiar animal. Personally, this makes it easier for me to relate to the legendary figures. Vidal infuses verisimilitude into our history, making it real by making it believable. I would even put forth an argument that Vidal’s historical writing can be viewed as a reaction against historical revisionism that started with Brown. Until the 1950s or so, the generation of the Revolution was depicted as exalted Olympians. Then, turning to the other extreme, we all of a sudden decided that they were a bunch of oversexed patriarchal, avaricious and close minded power grubbers who only cared to find ways to preserve their wealth (failures almost to the man, as such prominent figures as Washington and Jefferson died penniless). By showing the multi facetedness as well as complexity and ambiguity of the people and situations involved, Vidal illustrates that whatever ideals were put forward were grounded in actual reality. While for some this may negate the ideal, for me it makes it so much more easier to accept. The principles proclaimed in the Declaration of Independence have been dismissed through history as a true foundation of the United States. On the one hand, the critics would say, Jefferson was extolling universal equality, on the other hand, in practice, he was talking of the universal equality of White Male property owners. By arguing against the specific manifestation of the principle, the attempt at making the principle a reality is often dismissed off hand. Indeed, Jefferson, known by some of his contemporaries as "Massa Tom," was a slave owner and Lincoln was not campaigning on the platform of Abolitinism, but rather on the prohibition of the expansion of slavery into new States. But in the 1820s we had of Jacksonian democracy, which gave the vote to all free males, regardless of property. There was the Civil War, which started the process of freeing black salves. Considering the reality of the situation in 1776, to expect the United States to have the freedoms it offers in 2001 in 1776 is the same as expecting a grossly overweight glutton who finally decides to go on a diet to lose his weight overnight. Furthermore, I would adumbrate disagreements with this entry by stating that the States are still not devoid of cholesterol. I do think that we have a very decent diet that is being adopted by many other fatsos around the world. 6:01:36 PM     Newton Scenes Life, being the stressful thing that it is, is highly helped by living in a pleasant place. For instance, unless the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and everything is totally going my way, quite a few areas of Brooklyn (a place I used to live in and still visit often) can get you clinically depressed; drab brown tenement buildings, cracked pavements, scary Brooklynites with even scarier accents, in short, the works. Luckily enough for me, I live in a place called Newton in the commonwealth of Massachusetts. The joys of residing in Newton are many and warrant an enumeration: A relatively affluent population translates itself into attractive abode homes. A key thing about this place is that, regardless of weather, the panorama does not turn depressing. Rain, snow or sunshine, the colonials, capes, Tudors, and the ranches look lovely. Green and tree lined, it is always a pleasure to walk or drive through. Variety. Newton is composed of 13 villages. Each has its distinct character, manifested in types of homes, style of trees and town center. Library. Like Brooklyn, most public libraries need to have a Prozac dispenser at the door. They are usually dingy, slightly fetid affairs, with dingy, slightly fetid books. The one exception I am aware of is the one in Newton (excluding, of course, major city libraries like the one in NYC and Boston, as well as libraries in academic institutions). Our library is huge, clean and amply stacked. Back to Variety. There are a great variety of people. Most of them are professional, intelligent and interesting. American born Newtonites lack the different varieties of Boston and Massachusetts accents (I speak with an accent, but I was not born here, so I have an excuse). The good school and clean living attract people from all over the world, so there is a great national, ethnic and religious variety as well. Just the odd things that people end up doing around here – there is a willowy Orthodox Jewish guy that is constantly jogging. He is either wearing a black caftan during the day, or an absolutely improbably multi-colored robe when he runs after dark. His face has an expression of slightly mad exultation, with arms (he appears to have more than two, somehow) flying in strange directions at unnatural angles. It’s not suburbia! Or at least it does not feel like something the Leave it to Beaver world. Sans traffic it’s about a 15-minute drive to Boston. One can get Indian, Japanese (best Sushi EVER), Mediterranean, Italian, French and endless Pub cuisine without leaving the town (actually, it’s a city, with over 80,000 inhabitants). Lowest crime rate in the States for a city of its size. Our own Symphony Orchestra Total lack of provincialism. Great bookstores. Besides the requisite B&N, there is the New England Mobile Book Faire. There is nothing mobile about it – it’s been standing in the same spot since ’47 if I am not mistaken. Inside, it’s a cozy, huge warehouse filled with books. One needs to get over the organization – books are organized by publisher, and by title within the publisher. The great thing is that you can get most books there. If they don’t have ‘em they’ll order ‘em for you. The bonus? All books are at least 20% off. Lakes. There are quite a few of them. You can walk and swim (in the winter) – there are actually quite a few walking trails. The lakes also provide amusing sites. For instance I saw a man in his late 30’s or early 40’s teach his 73-year-old father in law how to wind surf. As both men were Russian, the exchanges between them proved to be highly entertaining to me (it’s fascinating how one can be rude and commanding while at the same time using the formal address – the Russian equivalent of "Vous" versus "Tu.") I also bumped into a woman who used to date the son of the previous owner of my house back in the 70’s! A variety of cafes. I am partial to Pete’s, but there are at least two more just in the Village center I go to. People are chatty (great opportunity to increase my blog readership), and you never know whom you’ll meet. For instance, I bumped into someone I went to graduate school with. Once this scion to a rather old family (his name sounds rather Mayflowerish) got his PhD in Russian literature, he met a nice Jewish girl, changed his religion to hers (Oy Vey) and is now in a masters program in Jewish studies upon completion of which he will be teaching Jewish kids Judaism in Sunday school. And the list goes on. All in all, the place is pleasant without being dull, it’s intellectually challenging without being obnoxious about it, and feels young because of all the families having kids and college students. 6:00:43 PM     How to make them call you back? The entire job search thing makes you feel like you are back in Junior High -- when will they call (e-mail) back to you.  I am sure all of you job searchers out there have your regular routines: * Get up -- a crucial component * Check the various boards (Monster, Dice, etc.) * Send out resumes * Call those jobs that leave phone numbers rather than just e-mail addresses. It is interesting to observe what types of activities (or changes in routines) generate more call back and e-mails.  Here are some that worked for me: * Don't get up.  If you don't get up in the morning someone is bound to give you a call, respond to your resume posting or to an e-mail you had sent out earlier * Change resume classification.  If you hit a class of jobs that being sought out (e.g., sales versus project delivery) you may get a surge of callbacks. * Compromise as to where you are willing to work or how much travel you are willing to take upon.  I may need to break down and not focus exclusively on the coasts :-( * Find a new and original way to convince someone that the job they have posted is the PERFECT job.  Since everyone does it you need to be original -- dropping any semblance of self-respect in a cover letter did it for me once (you can't lie here, just be mindful of that). If anyone has additional ideas, those will be highly welcome! 6:00:16 PM     When the courts prosecute ladies couples and dudes, it’s our mores! Here is a story about a woman who is being charged for convincing her sister to be a fellow wife to her husband. OK, all the married men with attractive sisters in law can take a moment of dulcet contemplation. Done? Good. There appears a certain obsession in our midst with the bedroom habits of other people. Somehow, society (whatever that animal might be) feels the need to impose some kind of a collective set of behavior on the population at large. It is called morality. There is a certain necessity for standards of behavior for the creation of an environment where people can function effectively – knowing what to expect and what is expected of them. At this juncture of our collective narrative, Anno Domini 2001, we have been working fairly hard to fashion society and societal norms in such a way as to accommodate the Individual, that concrete chunk of walking protoplasm, rather than that abstract floating abstraction called society. The trick is to allow the Individual to do whatever it is that Individuals do without precluding other individuals from doing the same –which can certainly get tricky. Now, we are at a stage when "non-standard," "non-traditional" cohabitation is accepted (partners can get medical benefits) and often protected by law – there is a state of two were people of the same sex can marry. And who said that humanity is not developing any longer? So why is all the brouhaha about bigamy and polygamy? It’s an issue if one of the "family" members is not of adult age – serious problem as a matter of fact. But if everyone is a consenting adult? Actually, in this particular case the young sister was 16 years old, so the age thing may have come into play. The sense I am getting, though, is that there is an issue with marriages with more than two people involved. Just check the Bible – every self-respecting patriarch and king and quite a few wives… When the courts prosecute ladies couples and dudes, it’s our mores! Here is a story about a woman who is being charged for convincing her sister to be a fellow wife to her husband. OK, all the married men with attractive sisters in law can take a moment of dulcet contemplation. Done? Good. There appears a certain obsession in our midst with the bedroom habits of other people. Somehow, society (whatever that animal might be) feels the need to impose some kind of a collective set of behavior on the population at large. It is called morality. There is a certain necessity for standards of behavior for the creation of an environment where people can function effectively – knowing what to expect and what is expected of them. At this juncture of our collective narrative, Anno Domini 2001, we have been working fairly hard to fashion society and societal norms in such a way as to accommodate the Individual, that concrete chunk of walking protoplasm, rather than that abstract floating abstraction called society. The trick is to allow the Individual to do whatever it is that Individuals do without precluding other individuals from doing the same –which can certainly get tricky. Now, we are at a stage when "non-standard," "non-traditional" cohabitation is accepted (partners can get medical benefits) and often protected by law – there is a state of two were people of the same sex can marry. And who said that humanity is not developing any longer? So why is all the brouhaha about bigamy and polygamy? It’s an issue if one of the "family" members is not of adult age – serious problem as a matter of fact. But if everyone is a consenting adult? Actually, in this particular case the young sister was 16 years old, so the age thing may have come into play. The sense I am getting, though, is that there is an issue with marriages with more than two people involved. Just check the Bible – every self-respecting patriarch and king and quite a few wives… 5:59:46 PM     National Brotherhood Week I somehow feel that there is not enough hatred in the world, and it scares me a little bit. In Vladimir Vladimirovich Nabokov’s autobiography, my literary hero describes an incident where his father stormed out of a restaurant somewhere in Europe upon spying several Japanese nationals dining there. The year was 1905, and the Russo-Japanese war (where the Russians where trounced, by the way) was in full swing. In the Japanese war museum one can see a curious photograph. I am not sure whether it is from WWI or from some other war in the late 90’s of the 19th century, but I am quite certain that it was within a decade of the 1905 war. In the picture, one can see about five soldiers – all of them of allied countries. There is an American, a Brit, a Russian, a Japanese and a Frenchman. So, when the war was raging against his country, a highly cultivated and worldly person as Vladimir Dmitrivich Nabokov (i.e., Abu-Vladimir) felt he could not share the same restaurant with the citizens of a country that was fighting his. I bet that if he were to encounter the same Japanese gentlemen around the time where the aforementioned photograph was taken, he would have joined them in a Samurai drinking game. The scenario I am about to describe probably cannot happen with Iraq. But let’s say we end up going to war against Germany (diplomatically speaking, our relationship is in the doldrums). Even better, let’s say Germany goes to war against France, or Spain against Italy. If members of the opposing countries were to run into each other in some neutral territory, I doubt that the one to come in last would storm out in indignation. More probably, they would have a drink for the war’s quick ending. I could be wrong, but somehow, I can’t, in my mind’s eye, vilify another human being – a specific individual – to the degree that I would hate him (her) just because they belong to a country with which my government happens to be in dire disagreement. Having been in this situation (the warring, not drinking), I do, to a degree, speak from experience. Early in ’91 I was one of many US Marines, stationed somewhere between Daharan and Baharain, in an erstwhile oil refinery camp turned Marine Corps base, named Camp 5 (later Christened "Camp Grey" after the then current commandant of the Marine Corps). Stories about the supposedly violent and fanatical Iraqi Republican Guards abounded. People were talking rather seriously about how one of them could (not would, mind you, could) single handedly take on a Marine Platoon (granted, we were reservists, a.k.a "Weekend Warriors," and we changed the usual Marine Corps self description of "Swift, Silent, Deadly" into "Slow, Loud and Harmless, but nevertheless…). The really amusing part is that once I blinked and the war was over, I had a chance to speak with an Army Captain, who told me the stories she heard directly from the Iraqi troops who have surrendered, and whom she helped process (I may have mentioned this before in a previous blog, so forgive me if I repeat myself). The story they told each other in absolute seriousness was that in order to become a Marine one had to show not only exemplary strength and determination, but also a fanatical readiness to do whatever one was asked. So as the final stage of the recruitment process, a potential recruit had to bring into the recruitment station an immediate relative, recently killed by the potential recruit… So while, almost out of necessity, the American troops were trying to demonize the Iraqis, there was not sense of violent hatred towards them (it may have been different were the fighting to be prolonged, with numerous casualties on our side). Ten years have passed since then, and thanks to the Internet the world had become a much smaller place than it was then. Much of the anti war arguments that are going on today, center around the fact that many Iraqi civilians are going to be killed, and that is unacceptable as a fact. Whether that is true or not is a different question. I doubt, though, that say, during the Napoleonic wars, some French pacifists were arguing against the Russian campaign because they felt for the Russian peasant that would be trounced by the French troops. Today, such arguments abound. And that is a good thing. I think it shows that slowly, very slowly, humanity begins to think of itself as a unit, rather than divide itself along national lines. So, if the shrinking of the world is going to make nationalism go away (eventually, not tomorrow), why am I saying that this scares me? Well, to some degree it may have been just to catch your attention and made you read the entire entry, but in all seriousness, lack of hatred of the "other" would have taken an incredible energy outlet away from humanity. But come to think of it, polarization won’t go away, it will just take on a different guise. With the exception of radical Islam and the Catholics versus Protestants in Northern Ireland, I cannot think of any religious wars going on – I think that this is religion’s last hurrah as a divisive force. Nationalism is also weakening when you can chat with most people over the net. The only one I can think of as alive and well is… the global corporation. I’m all for Capitalism and the exploration of the masses, don’t get me wrong here. I am just thinking back to the days when I was working for Louts. Actually, I joined the ranks shortly after Lotus Development was acquired by IBM in the summer of ’95. By the time that I was fully indoctrinated, the mentioning of Microsoft and their competing product – MS Exchange – was supposed to cause a visceral reaction. We were taught to hate Microsoft and identify ourselves with Lotus not only as employees but as members of a culture (a favorite word on corporate parlance, by the way). Microsoft was a completely opposite, competing culture. The fact that the competition boiled down to market share did not reduce the virulence of the feeling of belonging and opposition. So, I guess we can all sleep soundly tonight. Even if wars and religious intolerance were to go away tomorrow, humanity’s ability to find someone to hate shall not be impaired. Happy brotherhood week everyone! 5:59:02 PM     Favorite drinking story Friday is again upon us, and as the last week has been replete with references to alcohol and drinking, I figured I’d regale you with my favorite drinking story.  Mind you, this story has nothing to do with me (even I have my limits). It was told to me by my uncle, who has no reason to lie. It is all about Russians' dedication to inebriation.  My uncle lived for quite some time in rather remote areas, where provisions were rather scarce.  They were so scarce, as a matter of fact, that the ingredients for "Samogon" the home distilled vodka that Russians make when there is nothing to buy in the stores were not available.  So, when the vodka, beer, wine and any other alcoholic beverages have been consumed; when all toothpaste, perfume, au de cologne, have been mixed with water and consumed… when all of that was done, but the need for inebriation remained, my compatriots would do the following: they would take shoe polish and smear it generously on a loaf of bread. They would let the bread stand with the shoe polish on it for some time. After several hours the top portion of the loaf – the one with the shoe polish on it – would be cut off and discarded. Whereupon the entire family would sit together, say grace and happily consume the soft portion of the bread, into which the alcohol content of the shoe polish had percolated. Now, that is what I call dedication! 5:58:19 PM     Who's next, or why unenforceable agreements don't quite work Today's headlines announcing that in spite of explicit agreements signed in '94, North Korea has been developing nuclear weapons capabilities remind me of a Tom Lehrer song, composed and performed