When you're 50 you start thinking about things you haven't thought about before. I used to think getting old was about vanity -- but actually it's about losing people you love. Getting wrinkles is trivial. -- Joyce Carol Oates --
Have a great Thursday! And a safe, fun, New Year's Eve! ********
Yesterday was "Take Your Kid to Work Day." It used to be "Take Your Daughter to Work Day," but political correctness took over. Thanks to the economy, there's a new special day for parents and kids -- "Take Your Child To Where You Used To Work Day." -- Jimmy Kimmel --
This week a list was released of all of Hitler's living relatives and it turns out there are 39. It also turns out that not one of them has a sign on their door that says, "Welcome to the Hitlers." -- Conan O'Brien --
Well, I did a radical thing today. I bought a different cologne. For about the past 57 years I have worn Adventurer which is a fragrance sold at Eddie Bauer stores. I even once wrote a bit of a thing about... cologne-theory. In my neighborhood Mall [The Rideau Centre] the store next to Eddie Bauer is Banana Republic. I just happened to walk in there and sprayed a few of their many men's fragrances around on those little cardboard things. This one scent really intrigued me. Awakened my inner... something. So I bought a bottle of it. I am almost out of this last bottle of Adventurer [the bigger green bottle in photo] so -- we'll see how this goes. This new scent is called Republic of Men. I know... sort of a goofy name, if you ask me. But wow -- it smells real nice. I have always gotten a lot of terrific comments when I am soused down in Adventurer, so I will try this new product [which is exactly twice as expensive] and see how it goes. Contrary to a rumor that was going around, Eddie Bauer has NOT discontinued Adventurer, but they have renamed it Adventurer II. And the new bottle is not nearly as sexy as this Banana Republic product. I have had women actually ram their head into my neck to get a better whiff of my Adventurer fumes. So -- if I do not notice equal or BETTER fanaticism with Republic of Men, I will definitely be going back to Eddie Bauer. After all, it's not about me. It's about RESULTS! ********
Lately I have not been blogging much. I've been reading, writing The Odd Poem here and there -- but I guess that overall this Christmas season I've been feeling really relaxed -- quiet -- pensive. [Well, when I was not partying.] But right now, for instance, I could not be more at peace. Listening to some soothing "Zen" music. Many candles aglow. My favorite beverage being sipped. Warm. Cozy. Even Jack seems content. All is well with the world. Or more correctly, all is well with MY world. And today I noticed something -- for the first time ever. My eyesight is not what it used to be.
I was sitting at Starbucks reading this terrific novel calledA Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian. Had a great bench seat, facing Rideau Street. The way I was situated.... well, it was ideal for reading, the book laying flat on its own. I could sit there, elbows on knees, in exquisite toilet posture. As I leaned forward and back, however, I noticed [for the first time ever] that anything closer than six inches or so from the page -- everything becomes blurry. Out of focus. I can read it, but only with serious effort. Move back a bit.... oh.... there we go! Perfect. HOWEVER... I have always had perfect eyesight. Have never had to wear glasses. Have never noticed even one out-of-focus moment. Until today.
Hmmmm...... will I soon be wearing goggles to read? Will I be one of those people that hold a book out at arm's length to focus on text? For a moment, I panicked. Seriously..... I did all manner of experiments..... there I was, bobbing back and forth like one of those novelty bird-gadgets, you know the ones that fall forward, sip some water and then straighten out again? Yep. I panicked, but then I smiled. This is just part of life.... hell, I'm almost half a century old. If I was a tractor I'd be in the scrap heap by now. But as it is, I'm doing not too bad. Not too bad at all.
Maybe all of my "mellowness" this Christmas season -- maybe the fact that there are BIRDS CHIRPING in the music I choose to listen to right now -- maybe it's just that I am rightfully getting............. old! ********
Thank you so much, my friends, for your kind wishes this Christmas. I have had a good, thoughtful Christmas. It continues to be so. Good. And thoughtful. Not to be too somber at such a festive time, but I am big on commemoration. I think most of you have noticed this about me, by now. I have a very reflective nature. I'm always remembering things. Today, Boxing Day, is exactly one year since I sat and talked with my mother for the last time. I was visiting her in the hospital and then the very next day I flew back here to Ottawa. She passed away, days later, in the first moments of New Year's Day. Also, a couple weeks ago was the tenth anniversary of my father's passing. So I have had a pensive Christmas, in many ways. Have caught myself several times talking aloud to the both of them. No, I'm not going loony[er] at all. Just remembering. I hope you all have had a wonderful Christmas.
The Gentle Hug
Ten years on Dad, I feel again the strength. The weakness around my neck. Power of the gentle hug. The water in the corner of your eye. What I would give now to see it reflect the bales of hay, or the perch caught. The spoon in the tea, the oil changed, the ghost seen, the garden gardened, or Helen discovered.
The phone answered. The clink of you dropping screws into a jar labelled "screws". Re-aligning that pendulum. Once I awoke in the night. At the end of the hallway I saw you cracking hazelnuts as though only the snow falling outside knew neither of us were sleeping.
To one and all, I wish you a very Merry Christmas Eve followed by a stupendously good Christmas Day! This is the first year in the past 15 or so that I will not be flying home for Christmas, so, the following song has special meaning for me this year. Kate Smith sings it so beautifully. The last note in this song.... completely lovely!
Did you ever think that making a speech on economics is a lot like pissing down your leg? It seems hot to you, but it never does to anyone else. -- Lyndon B. Johnson --
Once again we find ourselves enmeshed in the Holiday Season, that very special time of year when we join with our loved ones in sharing centuries-old traditions such as trying to find a parking space at the mall. We traditionally do this in my family by driving around the parking lot until we see a shopper emerge from the mall, then we follow her, in very much the same spirit as the Three Wise Men, who 2,000 years ago followed a star, week after week, until it led them to a parking space. -- Dave Barry --
You can calculate the worth of a man by the number of his enemies, and the importance of a work of art by the harm that is spoken of it. -- Gustave Flaubert --
I wonder if this is true, in an absolute sense. Have a great Monday! *******
Can you imagine, say for instance, if you yourself undertook the writing of a book with such an ambitious title? The History of Love. First guy: "So hey..... umm, what are you doing today?" Second guy: "Not much. Just working on a book called The History of [frigging] LOVE!"
For one thing, there is no such thing as a history of love. There are only many histories of loves. And each "history" -- each story -- a unique, and inexplicable, one. The relevance so internal, is what I mean. Your love for another, for your loved one, your beloved -- only you yourself can know what it all means, if put into words. Those words would be inadequate. If at all meaningful to anyone outside of the relationship, terms would have to be generalized -- you would end up writing a philosophy of love, because anyone reading your work would not have truly experienced the unique thing you are describing. At best, they would know [or imagine] a vague approximation.
Nicole Krauss's [2005] novel, The History of Love is a difficult book. Read a few reviews. You will see. It is not for the faint-of-heart. If you need a potboiler, don't go here. You're going to be waiting a long while to see any percolation, much less modest bubbles... never mind the lid rattling. A few times I wanted to abandon the thing. It's difficult. Almost like a real love-relationship, there is nothing simple about it. But I have discovered tonight [having finished the book mere minutes ago] that, as with a healthy love-relationship, patient tenacity will be worthwhile. Stay with this book to the end. The pieces you don't think are fitting, will.
It's stopping in the middle that would be a mistake. Like a painting that means little in the first ten minutes. In the eleventh, it all hits you. As with history, so with love. To stop partway through is to miss the beginning. *******
What of all her musing if it comes to this? Socket and jaw, lips that shall not kiss beyond the compass of her time and place. Recall the sadness of her thoughtful face, the scratch of quill in candled bliss?
Oh, I do, I do. And few knew her my friend as we did. ‘Tis so, agreed! To what end shall we commit this find, will it rest beside that of her husband, but blessed above his station? This, I would intend.
Well then, let us carry them to the tomb where they shall forever reside, in whom they have believ’ed. None wrote like her, nor jested as he. But let God himself confer Yorick’s wife wrote verse when in the womb.
Only two other presidents have won the Nobel Prize. Woodrow Wilson, who was credited for ending World War I, and Teddy Roosevelt for inventing the teddy bear. -- David Letterman --
Have you ever discovered a great beer as a by-product of reading a great book? I did. TONIGHT! In the Toronto segments of the new John Irving novel Last Night in Twisted River, everyone is always drinking this Toronto-brewed pilsner beer: Steam Whistle. So I picked up 24 of these beauties after work today! And what can I say? THEY'RE BETTER THAN THE BOOK! Which [by the way......] was EXCELLENT! I am currently... pleasantly pickled. Thank John, you..... Irving. *****
Britney Spears is in the news again. She is denying rumours that she is pregnant. She made a statement and said, "If I were pregnant, these cigarettes would be low-tar." -- Conan O'Brien --
A new study from Purina found that house cats spend about 22% of their days looking out windows. 12% playing with other pets. 8% climbing on chairs and just 6% sleeping. The study also found that cats have the exact same schedule as Joe Biden. -- Jimmy Fallon --
Maybe it's just because I am 101% Ukrainian? Right down to my shoes? Maybe it's because she is SO HOT! Maybe it's because this is amazing giftedness, on display?
All I know is that this is just absolutely incredible. She is doing all of this with a big pile of SAND! [I love the orchestration of Metallica's Nothing Else Matters at the end...]
J.B.S. Haldane, one of the three leading architects of neo-Darwinism, was once challenged by a lady after a public lecture:
Evolution sceptic:Professor Haldane, even given the billions of years that you say were available for evolution, I simply cannot believe it is possible to go from a single cell to a complicated human body, with its trillions of cells organized into bones and muscles and nerves, a heart that pumps without ceasing for decades, miles and miles of blood vessels and kidney tubules, and a brain capable of thinking and talking and feeling.
Haldane: But madam, you did it yourself. And it only took nine months.
I do not know what art means but I know what it is. Edward Hopper is in Paris between 1906 and 1910 and he is lonely because he is always lonely and will always be lonely. He is the figurative painter, an idea then slipping from fashion, but his paintings capture desolation so complete it will take decades, until the summer of 1045, to replicate what he sees in his mind. The young woman has dark hair and sits on the floor with a white sheet under her, one half pulled from the bed. Her chemise is awry, black hair blooms between her legs, and one foot basks in a shaft of yellow light penetrating her lonely chamber. Her lover has left, or more likely never come. She is warm and the world is cold, and so slowly, ever so slowly, she will become chilled and become one with the world. -- from Charles Bowden's "Contested Ground" (p. 13 in the recent Harpers magazine.) --
Question: What is your impression? Has the lover left the scene, or never arrived? Or thirdly, there never was any lover in the first place?
This week a list was released of all of Hitler's living relatives and it turns out there are 39. It also turns out that not one of them has a sign on their door that says, "Welcome to the Hitlers."
Well, I did a radical thing today.
Lately I have not been blogging much.
Thank you so much, my friends, for your kind wishes this Christmas. I have had a good, thoughtful Christmas. It continues to be so.
Once again we find ourselves enmeshed in the Holiday Season, that very special time of year when we join with our loved ones in sharing centuries-old traditions such as trying to find a parking space at the mall.
You can calculate the worth of a man by the number of his enemies, and the importance of a work of art by the harm that is spoken of it.
Can you imagine, say for instance, if you yourself undertook the writing of a book with such an ambitious title?
Only two other presidents have won the Nobel Prize. Woodrow Wilson, who was credited for ending World War I, and Teddy Roosevelt for inventing the teddy bear.
Have you ever discovered a great beer as a by-product of reading a great book?
Britney Spears is in the news again. She is denying rumours that she is pregnant. She made a statement and said, "If I were pregnant, these cigarettes would be low-tar."
A new study from Purina found that house cats spend about 22% of their days looking out windows. 12% playing with other pets. 8% climbing on chairs and just 6% sleeping. The study also found that cats have the exact same schedule as Joe Biden.
