Click the image for larger version.

The garden on June 8. The zuccini is doing well. A couple other squash types not so much but they are all right. The beans are burning up. All 8 pepper plants have been eaten by bugs. The okra are still small and struggled with bugs as well, but a couple of them now have true leaves and the bugs seem to have stopped. Perhaps they will thrive. Thank goodness for the tomatoes. The 3 at the far end are over 4 feet tall - I think the compost bin used to be there - and look very vigorous. If they were a carnivorous plant I would be very afraid of them. On the right is the compost bin surrounded by peppermint. Next to that is the Italian parsley, which has gone to seed. I was going to cut it back but I saw some ladybugs in there and figured that was a good thing.

Notes to self:

• Next year plant more green beans. They are pretty small and don’t like the heat. From the 6 this year, I got about a dozen beans.
• Move the peppermint somewhere else in the yard. It spreads.
• Try planting larger peppers and okra. The small ones don’t seem to be able to survive the bugs.

Here is the garden on May 1. I started planting on April 5th, but then had to cover them all when there was a frost the next week. Note to self: next year plant after tax day.

Click the image for larger version.

Item: Tuesday, June 3. During the drive home from work, I was listening to “True Oldies 106.7.” After playing the song “Loves Me Like A Rock” by Paul Simon the DJ said, “Paul Simon graduated from Queens College where he majored in English, but he decided that he would rather play music instead of translating the poems of James Joyce and Robert Burns.”

Item: Wednesday, June 4. The $400 Double Jeopardy question in the category “Poets” - Who was Robert Burns?

on the name “Robert Burns” at harpers.org turns up several things one of which is this from the February 1947 issue in an article entitled “Western Half-Acre” by Thomas Hornsby Ferril:

The contradictions wash out. I return
to the Nature-loving traits in all of us,
if we want to use them to our advantage,
so magnificently developed in a man like
Robert Burns who could write “The Twa’
Dogs,” “To a Mouse.i’.and “To a Daisy,”
and who could be ostracized for his revolutionary
devotion to the common man
and die as a miserable outcast, yet’ still set
multitudes of us rocking to “Auld Lang
Syne” on New Year’s Eve-bums, barflies,
bankers, doctors, economists, arm in arm,
everybody loves everybody and where
have you been all my life? Sentimentality?
Indeed it is! So is war, so is Ku Kluxing;
everything wicked about us is sentimental.
Robert Burns, who loved all Nature, has
done more to make us love each other,
in a world where a little goes a long way,
than twenty carloads of well meaning
international savants. The only thing he
hated was the wickedness that hindered
loving. Such a .mind would forgive, but
not approve, tirades like mine against
people who rule out love of Nature from
their blueprints for a better world.
But if we must fight for a better world,
let’s love as much of it as we can as we go
along, each and every facet of it. The
crusader who says there will be time
enough to enjoy Nature when we have
made the world itself fit to live in is not
only an apologist for his own hatreds, but
makes the patent error of conceiving of
history as a series of static destinations. He
reminds me of some single-minded young
couple saving up for a glorious honeymoon
trip around the world when they are
seventy: Unless we love Nature in sickness
and in health, in war and peace, in depression
and prosperity, we do not love
Nature at all-and once we lose interest
in her manifestations we block off a vast
avenue to our own comradeship.

The Grand Rapids Citadel Band 1884

The Grand Rapids Citadel Band was the first commissioned Salvation Army band in the United States. Mr. David Jolly Hay was the first commissioned bandmaster in the country.

I’m not saying Harry Potter dies - I’m not saying either way - no spoilers here! - I’m just saying that we’ve finished book 7. I read it aloud to my youngest daughter just like all the book before it. (There were several points when it was difficult to speak for getting all choked up near the end of this one.) It feels like the end of an incredible 10 year long journey. J.K. Rowling has wrapped up her tale with a tour de force, a triumph of imagination. Amazing!

Harpers.org is a pretty interesting web site, but not much of the actual magazine in available (free), which is too bad because there is a great story by Alice Munro called “Fiction” in the August issue.

Also in that issue is this funny little piece:

[Discography]
MEMORY ALMOST FULL

From a February 26 sentencing memorandum by
Judge Gregory R. Todd, in the case of Montana v.
Andrew McCormack. In 2006, McCormack was
arrested for stealing beer. After entering a guilty
plea, he received a sentence of probation, community
service, and a fine.

Mr.McCormack, to the question of "Give
your recommendation as to what you think the
Court should do in this case," you said, "Like the
Beatles say, 'Let it be.''' If I were to overlook your
actions and let it be, I would have to ignore that
day in the life on April 21, 2006. Evidently, you
said to yourself, "I feel fine," while drinking beer.
Later, whether you wanted money or were just
trying to act naturally, you became the fool on
the hill. As Mr. Moonlight at 1:30 A.M., you did
not think for yourself, but just focused on I, me,
mine. Because you didn't ask for help, wait for
something else, or listen to your conscience saying,
"Honey, don't," the victim later that day was
fixing a hole in the glass door you broke. After you
stole the eighteen-pack of Old Milwaukee, you
decided it was time to run for your life and carry
that weight. But when the witness said, "Baby,
it's you," the police responded, "I'll get you," and
you had to admit, "You really got a hold on me."
You were not able to get back home because of the
chains they put on you. Although you hoped the
police would say, "I don't want to spoil the party"
and "We can work it out," you were in misery
when they said you were a bad boy. When the
police took you to jail, they said, "Hello, goodbye,"
and you became a nowhere man. Later, when you
thought about what you did, you may have said,
"I'll cry instead." Now you're saying, "Let it be,"
instead of, "I'm a loser." As a result of your hard
day's night, you are looking at a ticket to ride that
long and winding road. Hopefully, you can say
when I'm sixty-four, "I should have known better."

Soku. Hillary said it was “cute like a bunny holding a gun,” and true dat. The song is “I’ll Kill Her” sung by Soku, a young lady from Paris, France. The contrast of a violent threat being made in a fun way is part of the charm, but I think what really makes this song is the guitar playing by Toma - as well as the fact that it’s a good, well-structured song. The minimalism helps, too.

After that check out this “live” version.

It reminds me of Clair de Lune - an Athens band that played only one gig ever - in April of 1980 at the Last Resort.

I just finished “Break of Day” by French author Colette. I mentioned before that her birthday and mine are both January 28, right? In fact I seem to be specialising in women authors born in late January… Edith Wharton’s is January 24. Virginia Woolf’s is January 25. Anyway…

Here’s a quote. The character Helen Clement is speaking to Colette. (The ellipses are hers.)

In short, Madame Colette, it’s true that I live in a very independent way and that I work. But after all, you know life well enough to understand that there are times when things aren’t easy, that I’m a woman like any other… that one can’t avoid certain affections… certain hopes, and it’s just in that particular hope that I’ve been disappointed.

 

It’s been a couple weeks since I finished “Ethan Frome” by Edith Wharton, written in 1911. The delay in making my comment is like a speechlessness wrought by its devasting emotional impact.

In the first part of the book, I kept wondering why the narrator was so concerned about Ethan’s “story.” He seems too nosy about him. The introduction informs the reader that Ethan was injured in a “smash-up” and it is this foreboding that make the story so poignant.

Once the story starts, with the chapters, it is a flashback to Ethan’s younger days. In this part, I kept wondering how Mrs. Wharton, who was born Edith Jones to one of the richest families in New York - supposedly the Joneses one tried to keep up with - could have such empathy and knowledge of poverty. I also was in wonder at her ability to describe in few words the terrain of the human heart.

This book is a masterpiece. The way such a complete picture is painted with such an economy of words is some kind of magic.

Well, maybe not “afraid,” but perhaps a little spooked. It’s definitely one for the Coincidence Club.

As mentioned in the preceding post, I have recently finished “Orlando” by Virginia Woolf. Previously, I was merely commenting on an excerpt tangential to the plot, but for this post to make any sense I must offer a brief synopsis.

“Orlando” is an odd story in many ways. The eponymous protaganist starts out as the son of a rich noble some time around 1600. He has many adventures over the years, but a few of the odd things that happen are that when the story ends in 1928 Orlando is 36 years old, and that one morning sometime in the 17th century Orlando turned into a woman. That aside, one recurring theme throughout the book is an oak tree located on his/her estate and the poem she is composing and carries with her through the centuries called “The Oak Tree.”

The other day a friend asked if I had a certain old photo, so I pulled out the several boxes in the store room labelled “Bob’s stuff” and looked for it. No luck there, but I came across several old papers and posters which have not been seen for a decade or two. A couple of things compelled me to keep them out after the rest had been returned to the dusty shelves:some old family photos from my sister in an envelope post-marked in 1997, and a binder of some of my fragmentary scribbles from my younger days entitled “Prose 1979-1984,” which I’m surmising I gathered together in 1985 or so. Anyway, it’s odd that the very first document in the binder is a 3-page hand-written manuscript entitled “An Acorn.” I guess it’s some kind of psychedelic prose poem. It begins:

A small capsule - smooth and shiny on one end, and covered on the other by a hard, rough, protective cap - fell out of the sky and landed in a vast open field. The planets revolved in their spheres many times and the acorn grew into an oak tree.

I kinda like that sci-fi capsule thingy at the beginning. It goes on to describe the life of the oak tree until:

Finally the oak itself, perhaps due to the restlessness that develops over the centuries, lept into the sky in a giant spark of lightning, leaving behind a skeleton with foliage blazing in colors brighter than any autumn.

Waxing poetic that. Waxing! It goes on a few sentences after that, but alas, it ends with the totally dismal, “Finally the great oak was forgotten.”

So, an odd coincidence, no?

Recently I finished reading “Orlando” by Virginia Woolf. The following quote is somewhat off the general drift of the book’s theme but is something that keeps coming to mind.

No passion is stronger in the breast of man than the desire to make others believe as he believes. Nothing so cuts at the root of his happiness and fills him with rage as the sense that another rates low what he prizes high. It is not love of truth, but the desire to prevail that sets quarter against quarter. 

This describes so well the root of so many of the problems we face today. I don’t really know how perople can believe so strongly in their creeds which are so obviously filled with contradictions and hypocrisy. And wearily, I quote again:

But these moralities belong, and should be left to the historian, since they are as dull as ditch water. 

Sometimes being the father of an eighth grader can lead to some new insights into familiar subjects. Case in point - the Gettysburg address. What I did not know before is that there are a number of different versions, i.e. five manuscripts with slight variations.
The version carved in stone at the Lincoln Memorial begins

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

and ends with

… we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

This is the so-called Bliss version which was a copy Lincoln wrote and gave to a Colonel Bliss in the year after the address was given.

Another version is the so-called Hay draft, which Lincoln gave to his secretary, John Hay (no relation) the day after the speech.

It begins

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth, upon this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

That first comma seems to me to create a very satisfying pause. The Hay draft ends

…we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation shall have a new birth of freedom; and that this government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

The most notable difference here is the absence of “under God” - a phrase that was also once absent (until 1954) from the Pledge of Allegiance.

The question came up upon hearing Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit.” Did the dormouse really say “Feed your head”? The answer, found here, is “no.”

Also answered is the Mad Hatter’s riddle “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” which I have always wondered about. Actually, Lewis Carroll meant it to have no answer - it was the Mad Hatter after all - but several suggestion have been made. My favorite is “Because Poe wrote on both.”

We made the trek to the ATL on Saturday to see Mission of Burma at the Earl. Vanessa “sat in” with them for one number, Pylon’s “Feast on my Heart.” It was a really good version. Perfect really. Who knows… maybe we’ll get to see a video of it. Sloan was there taping.

For a short history of the recording of Scottish music, read “Beltona Records and their role in recording Scottish music.” It includes such gems as:

During more than 110 years of existence the British recording industry has recorded thousands of artists performing in a bewildering range of styles and genres. Driven by the profit motive, it actively sought to cater for every market that could be identified; if they could press and sell 200 copies (or fewer) of a record for a profit they would certainly feel it worthwhile to do so. The hope was that customers, having seen a record they would like in a catalogue or supplement, would then buy a gramophone on which to play it, which would in turn, hopefully lead to the sales of more records.

Now that’s a business plan!

Tom Walker, born in Dundee in 1888, had worked for Murdoch’s since 1914 in the capacity of salesman for the whole of Scotland and so had a thorough knowledge of the Scottish musical scene. It seems highly probable that he was the man who persuaded the Murdoch family to change their marketing strategy from trying to be all things to all people to being a brand that appealed primarily to Scots. In the space of a couple of years (1927-29) the percentage of Scottish repertoire shifted from 23% to 75% and that of native artists from 44% to 92%. In itself this was significant but what was just as important was a move to a more vernacular style.

And a marketing strategy.

An important session took place in July 1929 when the bothy ballad singer Willie Kemp made his first records. Beltona was the first record company to record this genre and remained so until the post war period. Willie and his cousin George Morris were to remain popular for many years; indeed some of their material was re-issued on LP. Their versions of The Muckin’ o’ Geordie’s Byre, The Barnyards of Delgaty, Drumgeldie and many other songs probably helped to keep the tradition alive and perhaps provided the inspiration for many ‘folk’ artists.

Willie Kemp… remember him?

Here’s a long article about Ms. Newsom and Ys. With lots of detail about everything. Especially interesting is a section about rhythm.

What Stork taught Newsom was rhythm. In particular, she taught her some interlocking figures based on the kora, a stringed lute-like harp-thing made of calabash and cowhide that’s used by the wandering West African bards known as griots. Like nearly all West African music—and like essentially no classical Western music—kora music is largely polymetric, which means that each hand is following a different meter, or rhythmic pattern. The basic pattern that Stork taught Newsom is two (or four) beats against three.

Don’t miss it. This greatest disco song eva. Sally Shapiro’s “Anorak Christmas”. Listen at mySpace or download the gold right here.

Added note: Anorak is not a place as I originally assumed, but another word for parka (hooded jacket). Also, according to wikipedia, it is a slang term for “nerd” - which is also slang.

It was really one of those graphic stock alerts, but the subject line was intriguing. “AV3X is the brainwave technology that is a complete sensory experience.”

Oh wait! The AV3X actually exists. It’s a relaxation DVD.

Free demo here. It’s mostly ambient sounds and flashing lights… like a disco without a beat. “Not for use by seizure prone individuals.”

Whatever the astrological meaning of Pluto is (transformation, death and rebirth), we can all agree that its cultural meaning entails the god of the underworld and death in general. How odd then that in the very year that astronomers down-graded Pluto’s status as a planet, the news for the last week of the year is dominated by funerals (i.e. James Brown, Gerald Ford, and Saddam Hussein.)

A. Che Why posted his little song “Galaxy Day” to commemorate the sun’s transit of the galactic center on Dec. 18 and mentioned that “Pluto’s on the same spot. Maybe we’ll see if it matters or not.” It’s hard to say, but coincidence clubbers everywhere can ponder the symbolic situation.