. . . . This is the difference between third rate sf/f writers and a Bill Gibson. Neither Bill nor, say, would a Jack Womack, have ever said anything this callous, this ignorant and this stupid, and certainly not in public for publication, much less brag about bringing the virus to a place where, so far, it isn't.
Man, even in these times these hacks couldn't resist the idea of promoting ME ME ME ME ME.
Monday, March 30, 2020
Sunday, March 29, 2020
Books Are the Best Distraction -- Diaries: John Quincy Adams
. . . . John Quincy Adams's Diaries are so much fun to read.
The diarist is a keen, retentive observer, who writes from an historically valuable unique point of view, that of a first hand witness. So much of what he writes he participated in and / or witnessed personally. Many of these are classic events the national past, starting with the Battle of Bunker Hill, which 12-year-old JQ watched with his mother, Abigail Adams. As profoundly informative these Diaries are (brilliantly edited, by David Walstreicher for The Library of America), they are too, frequently witty, and often funny.
El V and I laugh out loud frequently during sessions of reading the Journals, either to ourselves or aloud when reading to each other.
Who could resist JQ's bare presentations of Henry Clay, who comes through as a different fellow, though still Clay, from those of his biographers, even those who may not necessarily approve of the man and politician. JQ initially spent a great of time struggling to get Clay to work -- and to think instead of bluster. During the 1815 Treaty of Ghent wranglings, for which the US had summoned Adams from the position as minister to Russia, there are many a mention of Clay arriving back to his room from a night of whores, cards and wine just as JQ was rising from his bed to work.
No one who isn't old in study of US history, or at least in years, could even recognize what he's writing about much of the time, much less find this Massachusetts Puritan (but one who wished he could be a great poet), amusing, much less made to laugh appreciatively by the skill of something he's written.
JQ's passages of Paris in the day and hours prior to Napoleon's arrival in Paris, breaking his incarceration on St. Helena, to reign again as emperor are particularly interesting if one knows that at the same time he's expecting his wife and child to arrive from traveling across war torn, northern Europe alone, from St. Petersburg -- in winter. This journey took her an astonishing 40 days! But not a word in his Diaries about this, other than, I was expecting the arrival of my wife.
What JQ describes instead are the various orders of Parisians and their responses, as the reports of the stages of Napoleon's arrival are accepted with the ho-hum shrugging of shoulders, rolling of eyes, and pragmatic reactions such as turning the Bourbon flag arms sold as tourist souvenirs into Napoleon's insignia, turning Royal Bourbon cakes into Imperial cakes and preferring to cheer or hiss their targets on stage at the theater. It's all opera buffa (JQ was in the audience for many all around Europe) and profoundly interesting, while illuminating and funny.
Or, who could resist this, from when JQ was himself Secretary of State to James Monroe? President Monroe proposed that Andrew Jackson (the most famous fellow in the US because of the Battle of New Orleans) be appointed Ambassador to Russia. Thomas Jefferson exploded, "Good God man, he'd have us at war in a month!" (Jefferson really disliked Jackson, one of the very few opinions Jefferson held with which I concur.)
I do wish he'd included his wife, Louisa, and what she was doing and thinking in his Journals. She's barely mentioned except for being 'unwell,' which meant anything from migraines to pregnancy to miscarriage to hysterics. Who wouldn't have gotten a case of hysterics occasionally, when constantly pregnant and losing the children and married to this fellow? I am enjoying his company very much, and I know he and Louisa did love each other very much, but sheesh!
What this means is that I'm officially old.
The diarist is a keen, retentive observer, who writes from an historically valuable unique point of view, that of a first hand witness. So much of what he writes he participated in and / or witnessed personally. Many of these are classic events the national past, starting with the Battle of Bunker Hill, which 12-year-old JQ watched with his mother, Abigail Adams. As profoundly informative these Diaries are (brilliantly edited, by David Walstreicher for The Library of America), they are too, frequently witty, and often funny.
El V and I laugh out loud frequently during sessions of reading the Journals, either to ourselves or aloud when reading to each other.
Who could resist JQ's bare presentations of Henry Clay, who comes through as a different fellow, though still Clay, from those of his biographers, even those who may not necessarily approve of the man and politician. JQ initially spent a great of time struggling to get Clay to work -- and to think instead of bluster. During the 1815 Treaty of Ghent wranglings, for which the US had summoned Adams from the position as minister to Russia, there are many a mention of Clay arriving back to his room from a night of whores, cards and wine just as JQ was rising from his bed to work.
No one who isn't old in study of US history, or at least in years, could even recognize what he's writing about much of the time, much less find this Massachusetts Puritan (but one who wished he could be a great poet), amusing, much less made to laugh appreciatively by the skill of something he's written.
JQ's passages of Paris in the day and hours prior to Napoleon's arrival in Paris, breaking his incarceration on St. Helena, to reign again as emperor are particularly interesting if one knows that at the same time he's expecting his wife and child to arrive from traveling across war torn, northern Europe alone, from St. Petersburg -- in winter. This journey took her an astonishing 40 days! But not a word in his Diaries about this, other than, I was expecting the arrival of my wife.
What JQ describes instead are the various orders of Parisians and their responses, as the reports of the stages of Napoleon's arrival are accepted with the ho-hum shrugging of shoulders, rolling of eyes, and pragmatic reactions such as turning the Bourbon flag arms sold as tourist souvenirs into Napoleon's insignia, turning Royal Bourbon cakes into Imperial cakes and preferring to cheer or hiss their targets on stage at the theater. It's all opera buffa (JQ was in the audience for many all around Europe) and profoundly interesting, while illuminating and funny.
Or, who could resist this, from when JQ was himself Secretary of State to James Monroe? President Monroe proposed that Andrew Jackson (the most famous fellow in the US because of the Battle of New Orleans) be appointed Ambassador to Russia. Thomas Jefferson exploded, "Good God man, he'd have us at war in a month!" (Jefferson really disliked Jackson, one of the very few opinions Jefferson held with which I concur.)
I do wish he'd included his wife, Louisa, and what she was doing and thinking in his Journals. She's barely mentioned except for being 'unwell,' which meant anything from migraines to pregnancy to miscarriage to hysterics. Who wouldn't have gotten a case of hysterics occasionally, when constantly pregnant and losing the children and married to this fellow? I am enjoying his company very much, and I know he and Louisa did love each other very much, but sheesh!
What this means is that I'm officially old.
Friday, March 27, 2020
Thursday Turned Out Well!
. . . . Thursday, we arose before 7, dressed after not sleeping all night, and went out to the supermarket. Who knew how lovely it is out there under a blue, sunny sky so early?
MW was nearly empty when we got there, but by the time we checked out it was filling right up. $300 of Stuff.
Thank goodness for the wheeled Italian granny shopping cart that has been leaning against a wall here unused for umpity years. Not only could we get so much Stuff at once, we didn't need to use one of MW's carts. We shouldn't have to do this again for another week, I think.
~~~~~~~~~~
. . . . The reports are that the Zoom courses are immediately becoming a lifesaver for the School's students. And not only here. I'm getting that info from all sorts of friends who doing college and university distance learning. Like the Cuban Music students P's unanimously requested their classes meet twice a week rather than once. They can see each others' faces, they can all talk.
Others we know, too are saying that immediately they felt the students were focused on them and the content in a way they never were in the physical classroom. E has students who say they are so lonely in their isolation from their peers this is keeping them sane.
Plus, the music classes -- afro latin, Cuban classes -- with the music that is the subject, are so cheerful and interesting. For this hour and 15 minutes the students don't have to think about C19. Also one can have fun in other ways with Zoom. At one point the students were asked to stand up from where they were sitting in their locations and do some dance steps. Hilarity ensued as moving has the effect of cutting off heads, leaving other parts of the body moving on the screen, etc.
After trying to do some straightening and putting away the Stuff from the incredibly stressed shopping, and then the class, we were both chilled. We'd no sleep Wednesday night, stressed about shopping. Our metabolisms were screwed from rushing to dress, not having breakfast or anything before shopping, and then at home trying to get certain things out of the way before 11 AM. and the course meeting
So, after class, el V and I did something we never do. We shut off all the devices except fones and went to bed. We spent the afternoon getting warm and talking and reading and laughing, and answering phone calls.
The heat came up and I began what now I regard as a 'treat' dinner, after four days straight of variations on the main of kidney beans and rice (ya, rationing and frugality from the start, yanmo?), a fresh (not thawed from the freezer) pork roast from the shopping, in a slow oven with lots of the cheap white wine, onion, some dried 'shrooms, etc. fresh asparagus and yammy yams! And wine, the good stuff, of which we drank some! And read to each other and talked and laughed some more, while listening to music. I ate whole (smallish) meal. I've been forcing food into me because I know not eating won't do any good. But have had little to no appetite for weeks now.
Then came a phone call, and like so many others, we were saved by our friends!
K and C's hardware store up on Jumel Terrace had a big supply of gloves and masks. They got us some. We could reimburse them via PayPal, in which someone just yesterday deposited exactly the amount they'd spent on us. Dear, beloved B biked up there and did a hand off -- it took him less than 45 minutes, and there's a big hill, that's what kind of biker he is! So B and the mother of his daughter, el V and I all have masks and gloves now. Plus they threw in some quarts of Parmalat, they'd picked up for me earlier because in their neighborhood evidently nobody drinks the stuff and it just sits there on the shelves.
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Plus el V was called to write some press releases and other promotional material for some latin artists -- $work$!
~~~~~~~~~~~
Loaned across-hall neighbor a Hudson Bay wool blanket. It's warm/ish outside but this building's original lack of insulation (the post Civil War era) makes cold accumulate and just hang when the radiators aren't on, at least until the hot weather comes to stay. Wednesday night it was down to 37°. So ya, it was cold in here. Plus the blanket, a box of 3-minute oatmeal that she can cover when it sits with a plate -- nor does she have an attention span, I think, longer than that, due to her mental illness and the meds that keep sort of balanced. She still hasn't taken the steps to get some cooking gear -- she does have the mean$ to do so. Gave her some of our hot mashed yams to add to her soup - beans, along with some boiled eggs. None of the asparagus or pork, because she doesn't eat that. Today I gave her a quart of the Parmalat.
It's not as pretty a day as yesterday was, but I woke this morning for the first time without feeling sick to my stomach. I still haven't listening to the news or even read it, because everyday Death Cult Jim Jones declares something worse, and a greater determination to kill us and all Dems, insuring his reelection.
MW was nearly empty when we got there, but by the time we checked out it was filling right up. $300 of Stuff.
Thank goodness for the wheeled Italian granny shopping cart that has been leaning against a wall here unused for umpity years. Not only could we get so much Stuff at once, we didn't need to use one of MW's carts. We shouldn't have to do this again for another week, I think.
~~~~~~~~~~
. . . . The reports are that the Zoom courses are immediately becoming a lifesaver for the School's students. And not only here. I'm getting that info from all sorts of friends who doing college and university distance learning. Like the Cuban Music students P's unanimously requested their classes meet twice a week rather than once. They can see each others' faces, they can all talk.
Others we know, too are saying that immediately they felt the students were focused on them and the content in a way they never were in the physical classroom. E has students who say they are so lonely in their isolation from their peers this is keeping them sane.
Plus, the music classes -- afro latin, Cuban classes -- with the music that is the subject, are so cheerful and interesting. For this hour and 15 minutes the students don't have to think about C19. Also one can have fun in other ways with Zoom. At one point the students were asked to stand up from where they were sitting in their locations and do some dance steps. Hilarity ensued as moving has the effect of cutting off heads, leaving other parts of the body moving on the screen, etc.
After trying to do some straightening and putting away the Stuff from the incredibly stressed shopping, and then the class, we were both chilled. We'd no sleep Wednesday night, stressed about shopping. Our metabolisms were screwed from rushing to dress, not having breakfast or anything before shopping, and then at home trying to get certain things out of the way before 11 AM. and the course meeting
So, after class, el V and I did something we never do. We shut off all the devices except fones and went to bed. We spent the afternoon getting warm and talking and reading and laughing, and answering phone calls.
The heat came up and I began what now I regard as a 'treat' dinner, after four days straight of variations on the main of kidney beans and rice (ya, rationing and frugality from the start, yanmo?), a fresh (not thawed from the freezer) pork roast from the shopping, in a slow oven with lots of the cheap white wine, onion, some dried 'shrooms, etc. fresh asparagus and yammy yams! And wine, the good stuff, of which we drank some! And read to each other and talked and laughed some more, while listening to music. I ate whole (smallish) meal. I've been forcing food into me because I know not eating won't do any good. But have had little to no appetite for weeks now.
Then came a phone call, and like so many others, we were saved by our friends!
K and C's hardware store up on Jumel Terrace had a big supply of gloves and masks. They got us some. We could reimburse them via PayPal, in which someone just yesterday deposited exactly the amount they'd spent on us. Dear, beloved B biked up there and did a hand off -- it took him less than 45 minutes, and there's a big hill, that's what kind of biker he is! So B and the mother of his daughter, el V and I all have masks and gloves now. Plus they threw in some quarts of Parmalat, they'd picked up for me earlier because in their neighborhood evidently nobody drinks the stuff and it just sits there on the shelves.
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Plus el V was called to write some press releases and other promotional material for some latin artists -- $work$!
~~~~~~~~~~~
Loaned across-hall neighbor a Hudson Bay wool blanket. It's warm/ish outside but this building's original lack of insulation (the post Civil War era) makes cold accumulate and just hang when the radiators aren't on, at least until the hot weather comes to stay. Wednesday night it was down to 37°. So ya, it was cold in here. Plus the blanket, a box of 3-minute oatmeal that she can cover when it sits with a plate -- nor does she have an attention span, I think, longer than that, due to her mental illness and the meds that keep sort of balanced. She still hasn't taken the steps to get some cooking gear -- she does have the mean$ to do so. Gave her some of our hot mashed yams to add to her soup - beans, along with some boiled eggs. None of the asparagus or pork, because she doesn't eat that. Today I gave her a quart of the Parmalat.
It's not as pretty a day as yesterday was, but I woke this morning for the first time without feeling sick to my stomach. I still haven't listening to the news or even read it, because everyday Death Cult Jim Jones declares something worse, and a greater determination to kill us and all Dems, insuring his reelection.
Thursday, March 26, 2020
Panipat (2019) -- Maratha Empire
. . . . Last evening the school in which the course is situated had its usual faculty Wine Wednesday, but via Zoom. That was cheerful.
Then it was dinner time. After clean-up I watched for a while an historical action film set in the 18th C Maratha Empire Hindustan, Panipat -- Great Betrayal (2019). Recall at the same time (1751) the East India Company is warring to take out the Mughal Empire on the other side of the subcontinent. That the Marathas took out the Nizam helped the Brits do that. Around 1805, the EIC begins its war upon the Maratha and other Hindu kingdoms. We see some spectacular recreations of the famous Red Fort, among other striking visuals.
https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/entertainment/hindi/movie-reviews/panipat/movie-review/72375755.cms
Then it was dinner time. After clean-up I watched for a while an historical action film set in the 18th C Maratha Empire Hindustan, Panipat -- Great Betrayal (2019). Recall at the same time (1751) the East India Company is warring to take out the Mughal Empire on the other side of the subcontinent. That the Marathas took out the Nizam helped the Brits do that. Around 1805, the EIC begins its war upon the Maratha and other Hindu kingdoms. We see some spectacular recreations of the famous Red Fort, among other striking visuals.
https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/entertainment/hindi/movie-reviews/panipat/movie-review/72375755.cms
Ashutosh Gowariker’s magnum opus ‘Panipat’ is based on historical facts, taking some creative liberties along the way. Shadashivrao Bhau (Arjun Kapoor), is an able commander in his cousin Nanasaheb Peshwa’s (Mohnish Bahl) army. After a victorious battle against the Nizam of Udgir, Shadashivrao Bhau is chosen by the Maratha Peshwa to lead their army to Delhi. Ahmad Shah Abdali (Sanjay Dutt), the king of Afghanistan, has set his inroads into India after forming an alliance with Najib-Ud-Daula (Mantra) with the intention to defeat the Marathas and curb their expanding power....
.... ‘Panipat’ packs in a layered narrative that delves into the complex politics of the period, the intricate workings of war strategies versus might, negotiation dynamics and the importance of forming alliances. And it also weaves in the love story between Shadashivrao Bhau and Parvati Bai. In fact, the chemistry between Kriti Sanon and Arjun Kapoor as their love story develops, is one of the high points of the film. But with a run-time of close to three hours and the many characters and plot points the film touches upon it becomes a lengthy and at times, tedious watch...[but worth it, particularly for the spectacular final battle sequence]There are spectacular dance numbers, and singing interludes, which these I don't care for generally and don't here either, though they too are spectacular. What I love are the dancing, the brilliant colors, that eye-popping palette, all that gold and truck loads of pearls, rubies and emeralds. So I watched that for a bit, before retiring, reading aloud, and not sleeping most of the night, filled with the stress of getting up at 6 AM for a supermarket shopping trip, without real gloves and mask. But I do have my own Italian granny era wheeled shopping cart that has been leaning against a wall here unused for umpity years!
Wednesday, March 25, 2020
PSA Safe Grocery Shopping in COVID-19 Pandemic – UPDATED!!!
. . . . PSA Safe Grocery Shopping in COVID-19 Pandemic – UPDATED!!!
Monday, March 23, 2020
Meeting In Zoom Time
. . . . There's a lot to think about these days, which everybody is thinking about surely -- unless they are the narcissist sociopaths who have determined to deal with this crisis by letting us all die in hopes that this will resurrect the markets and ensure a re-election. Resurrect is the miracle word, all right. Hey ho though -- Easter's a'comin', so you betcha!
. . . . And then, there's doing meetings and courses and so much else via Zoom or another of those web communications with audio and video operations. While cooking this afternoon I also participated in one of those meetings. I'd never thought to say this but I appreciated being in a meeting, one in which I never hit the 'raise hand' function or 'speak' function. The meeting was run by university school's administration and staff. Faculty and students were 'present' and could speak, ask questions, comment. Or not.
But one could see the faces in real time, speaking in real time. After so many days already of self-isolation and now supposedly enforced???? isolation????? I found it actually pleasant to see these other faces and hear their voices. Not that they known anything more than anyone else, but hey -- company! One thing I could not help but notice is that with some of those running things, who happened to be women, there were children's voices bleeding into the audio. Emphasis here -- in these cases it was all women. Make of this what you might.
The nice discovery about Zoom, for those of us who don't have dedicated home offices and studios, is the function that allows for a 'green stage', i.e. one can pull up whatever one wishes from one's own files to be the background, rather than, o, say, Steve Colbert's bubble bath tub. Also, besides the synched audio and visuals, one can in real time import sound -- for instance music, from one's own playlists and files, as well as video and photos from one's own playlists and files.
Something very much appreciated.
Now. How long will everybody's hardware, our bloody laptops, stand up? We're not going to have any new stuff available for a very long time. Anymore than PPEs, masks, gloves, sanitizer, means to get permission slips that allow one to go out for essential things -- if one wears a mask that one does not have and probably never will.
When will we have a national draft to put people to work on the manufacture, organization and distribution of all these essentials? I guess most certainly not until many are dead because saboteur in chief is Bored! Now!
with the virus and his sil thinks everything needs to be reopened to resurrect the market and get elected.
But fear not if you live in Florida, from where all those happy breakers have returned with the virus to all 4 quarters. Florida has received all the PPE and medical supplies from the federal stock it requested. California -- go jump in the lake of herd immunity. So much cheaper and a lot more fun.
. . . . And then, there's doing meetings and courses and so much else via Zoom or another of those web communications with audio and video operations. While cooking this afternoon I also participated in one of those meetings. I'd never thought to say this but I appreciated being in a meeting, one in which I never hit the 'raise hand' function or 'speak' function. The meeting was run by university school's administration and staff. Faculty and students were 'present' and could speak, ask questions, comment. Or not.
But one could see the faces in real time, speaking in real time. After so many days already of self-isolation and now supposedly enforced???? isolation????? I found it actually pleasant to see these other faces and hear their voices. Not that they known anything more than anyone else, but hey -- company! One thing I could not help but notice is that with some of those running things, who happened to be women, there were children's voices bleeding into the audio. Emphasis here -- in these cases it was all women. Make of this what you might.
The nice discovery about Zoom, for those of us who don't have dedicated home offices and studios, is the function that allows for a 'green stage', i.e. one can pull up whatever one wishes from one's own files to be the background, rather than, o, say, Steve Colbert's bubble bath tub. Also, besides the synched audio and visuals, one can in real time import sound -- for instance music, from one's own playlists and files, as well as video and photos from one's own playlists and files.
Something very much appreciated.
Now. How long will everybody's hardware, our bloody laptops, stand up? We're not going to have any new stuff available for a very long time. Anymore than PPEs, masks, gloves, sanitizer, means to get permission slips that allow one to go out for essential things -- if one wears a mask that one does not have and probably never will.
When will we have a national draft to put people to work on the manufacture, organization and distribution of all these essentials? I guess most certainly not until many are dead because saboteur in chief is Bored! Now!
But fear not if you live in Florida, from where all those happy breakers have returned with the virus to all 4 quarters. Florida has received all the PPE and medical supplies from the federal stock it requested. California -- go jump in the lake of herd immunity. So much cheaper and a lot more fun.
Saturday, March 21, 2020
It's Official: We Are A "Major Disaster" Declares FEMA
. . . . Could C19 be Nature putting humanity on a time out to give the planet a break?
Had finished breakfast, which was our very old, dear friend, business partner and neighbor-across-the street B's wonderful cornbread, an apple, a banana and tea. Turned on the computer and learned FEMA has declared us officially a Disaster. Not just any old disaster either. A Major Disaster.
Cuomo was addressing us at that very moment I turned on, but listening for a minute, I realized what he was saying was what I know. As for some of the information at this time, since no matter how much may be brought in, there are no masks, gloves, sanitizer, or testing -- or probably medical care -- available for us, since, it really MUST go to the health workers. And as hard as I tried to prepare for this, I have no means of making a mask. The masks had been taken by resellers already in February, as were the gloves and the sanitizer.
Breakfast came after going out early this morning, hitting both the Gourmet Garage and Morton Williams. Per usual there was a line for Trader Joe's, and people are not 6 feet from each other -- I check when I go out, just to see; have no plans to go there, anymore than to Raffettos, which also was open -- not even possible to do 6 foot separation. Raffettos takes cash only and they aren't wearing gloves, even now, I saw through the window.
The GG was unpacking today's delivery towers of sanitary hand wipes for the stand at the door for handling the carts and baskets, and to dispose of them when leaving. I had brought a pencil and my own disinfectant wipes (for as long as they last) for punching in the pin for my card when paying, and handling the items. I had improvised that t-shirt mask, but ultimately it doesn't work. Cuomo has declared it mandatory for people in our age group to wear masks when we go out -- but we don't have any, so?
But anyway -- today is a lot better than yesterday, just physically. Finally, last night at some point in bed with a book, the radio on, my stomach unknotted, for the first time in many days and nights.
In this time loving and appreciating even more our usual radio programs. Last night was the weekly, WGBO's "Latin Jazz Cruise," hosted by our friend Bobbie Sanabría. He began with songs and rhythms of the orisha, Babalú-Ayé, the orisha of healing and the sick. Bobby was so matter-of-fact in his host patter between cuts, most of which was about the music and the artist that created it, just as usual, explaining for people who may not know the Afro Latin religion of Santería, from the Yoruba spiritual way of Lucumi. WBGO is the jazz station out of Newark, that plays every kind of music created by African Americans, and to much lesser degree that which has come of out of Afro Cuba and Puerto Rico.
It did us so much good! Music is a healer, a soother and a cleanser, and it brings people together -- plus it brims with history. The rituals, never uncoupled from the sacred music, dance and drum, is expressed in (Yoruba/Santería/Lucumi, and in Haitian Vodún too) rituals that cleanse one from bad influences, stress, etc. -- are limpiado la cabeza, i.e. washing, washing the head and making one strong to resist and survive. Cuba has always been this great cleanser for us and the Postmamboists, where all this ugly stuff is put away, and we disconnect digitally and otherwise, from the world here.
Music, being kind and thoughtful -- and laughing, are also limpiado!
Then Vaquero joined me and we read aloud, him getting silly, and we laughed together for the first time in a week -- which had a lot to do with rasslin' Zoom for distance teaching, and wrestling with Quick Books to issue Postmambo credit invoices for the postponed "For the Funk of It" trip. We began a new read-aloud-before-bed book, The End of the Myth: From the Frontier to the Border Wall in the Mind of America, Metropolitan Books, 2019 by Greg Grandin. Vaquero had already read it, but I haven't, and he loved it so much he wanted to read it again, but with us doing it together.
This is Greg's latest work, the first book to put the great saboteur in the context of our whole history of national mythology. These are along the lines of which I've been talking myself, for quite some time -- quite some time prior to 2016. But Greg has done it so brilliantly, cleanly and succinctly. He is not only a deeply intellectual analyst, but he possesses as well the tools of employing metaphorical, poetic (we really do need poetry now) and symbolic thinking, presenting this all in easily comprehensible and gorgeously composed prose.
Greg writes so well, it leaves one breathless. He cites us and American Slave Coast too. Plus he's clearly influenced in his thinking by the writers I've been living with in terms of our national mythology almost all my life, Leslie Fiedler and Richard Slotkin.
Slotkin was one of the innovators of American Studies, which brought together history, literature and pop culture, which meant music, movies and tv too -- O I was so there when learned there was such a discipline!)
Regeneration Through Violence: the Mythology of the American Frontier, 1600-1860 (Wesleyan University Press, 1973)
The Fatal Environment: the myth of the frontier in the age of industrialization, 1800-1890, (Atheneum, 1985)
Gunfighter nation: the myth of the frontier in twentieth-century America (Atheneum, 1992)
I have all three of these books here, Slotkin's written other works too, including some brilliant fiction of the War of the Rebellion) and though Vaquero knows my devotion to the works and has paid attention when I bring up Slotkin's analysis in pertinent ways, he's never read them. I think we'll start reading them aloud after finishing Greg's.
It's unbelievable how clenched in every bit of me I've been for days, now that -- for today anyway -- I've unclenched. I was able to bring back a few things for the neighbor across the hall -- she's just helpless. She doesn't cook. She doesn't even have a pot with a lid with which to make rice and doesn't know how to make rice anyway. Among the items I brought was Vaseline Petroleum Jelly. It's the only thing that gives relief and healing to our hands, which are constantly disinfecting and lathering. She didn't know either that vaseline does this. Vaseline was a staple on the farm when I was growing up.
I'd never ever in a billion years been able to guess in the misery of my growing up years that at the end of my life I'd be grateful for having been brought up on a farm and taught from the time I could walk and hold things to cook, clean, plan meals, organized a household.
There are so many people like my neighbor, who have been eating out (in her case various aid and assistance organizations for elderly people -- and they've all closed down -- they'd delivered meals too, and she got totally dependent on them) and never cooking) for years. One of our brilliant friends, who doesn't suffer any of the challenges and disabilities of our neighbor, told me once she refused to cook, even have a stove and dishes, because she couldn't stand washing dishes!
Every time --which is many times a day -- I wash dishes now, hands covered in hot water and soap, I feel I'm doing the right thing, and I feel safe. 😸
Had finished breakfast, which was our very old, dear friend, business partner and neighbor-across-the street B's wonderful cornbread, an apple, a banana and tea. Turned on the computer and learned FEMA has declared us officially a Disaster. Not just any old disaster either. A Major Disaster.
Cuomo was addressing us at that very moment I turned on, but listening for a minute, I realized what he was saying was what I know. As for some of the information at this time, since no matter how much may be brought in, there are no masks, gloves, sanitizer, or testing -- or probably medical care -- available for us, since, it really MUST go to the health workers. And as hard as I tried to prepare for this, I have no means of making a mask. The masks had been taken by resellers already in February, as were the gloves and the sanitizer.
Breakfast came after going out early this morning, hitting both the Gourmet Garage and Morton Williams. Per usual there was a line for Trader Joe's, and people are not 6 feet from each other -- I check when I go out, just to see; have no plans to go there, anymore than to Raffettos, which also was open -- not even possible to do 6 foot separation. Raffettos takes cash only and they aren't wearing gloves, even now, I saw through the window.
The GG was unpacking today's delivery towers of sanitary hand wipes for the stand at the door for handling the carts and baskets, and to dispose of them when leaving. I had brought a pencil and my own disinfectant wipes (for as long as they last) for punching in the pin for my card when paying, and handling the items. I had improvised that t-shirt mask, but ultimately it doesn't work. Cuomo has declared it mandatory for people in our age group to wear masks when we go out -- but we don't have any, so?
But anyway -- today is a lot better than yesterday, just physically. Finally, last night at some point in bed with a book, the radio on, my stomach unknotted, for the first time in many days and nights.
In this time loving and appreciating even more our usual radio programs. Last night was the weekly, WGBO's "Latin Jazz Cruise," hosted by our friend Bobbie Sanabría. He began with songs and rhythms of the orisha, Babalú-Ayé, the orisha of healing and the sick. Bobby was so matter-of-fact in his host patter between cuts, most of which was about the music and the artist that created it, just as usual, explaining for people who may not know the Afro Latin religion of Santería, from the Yoruba spiritual way of Lucumi. WBGO is the jazz station out of Newark, that plays every kind of music created by African Americans, and to much lesser degree that which has come of out of Afro Cuba and Puerto Rico.
It did us so much good! Music is a healer, a soother and a cleanser, and it brings people together -- plus it brims with history. The rituals, never uncoupled from the sacred music, dance and drum, is expressed in (Yoruba/Santería/Lucumi, and in Haitian Vodún too) rituals that cleanse one from bad influences, stress, etc. -- are limpiado la cabeza, i.e. washing, washing the head and making one strong to resist and survive. Cuba has always been this great cleanser for us and the Postmamboists, where all this ugly stuff is put away, and we disconnect digitally and otherwise, from the world here.
Music, being kind and thoughtful -- and laughing, are also limpiado!
Then Vaquero joined me and we read aloud, him getting silly, and we laughed together for the first time in a week -- which had a lot to do with rasslin' Zoom for distance teaching, and wrestling with Quick Books to issue Postmambo credit invoices for the postponed "For the Funk of It" trip. We began a new read-aloud-before-bed book, The End of the Myth: From the Frontier to the Border Wall in the Mind of America, Metropolitan Books, 2019 by Greg Grandin. Vaquero had already read it, but I haven't, and he loved it so much he wanted to read it again, but with us doing it together.
This is Greg's latest work, the first book to put the great saboteur in the context of our whole history of national mythology. These are along the lines of which I've been talking myself, for quite some time -- quite some time prior to 2016. But Greg has done it so brilliantly, cleanly and succinctly. He is not only a deeply intellectual analyst, but he possesses as well the tools of employing metaphorical, poetic (we really do need poetry now) and symbolic thinking, presenting this all in easily comprehensible and gorgeously composed prose.
Greg writes so well, it leaves one breathless. He cites us and American Slave Coast too. Plus he's clearly influenced in his thinking by the writers I've been living with in terms of our national mythology almost all my life, Leslie Fiedler and Richard Slotkin.
Slotkin was one of the innovators of American Studies, which brought together history, literature and pop culture, which meant music, movies and tv too -- O I was so there when learned there was such a discipline!)
Regeneration Through Violence: the Mythology of the American Frontier, 1600-1860 (Wesleyan University Press, 1973)
The Fatal Environment: the myth of the frontier in the age of industrialization, 1800-1890, (Atheneum, 1985)
Gunfighter nation: the myth of the frontier in twentieth-century America (Atheneum, 1992)
I have all three of these books here, Slotkin's written other works too, including some brilliant fiction of the War of the Rebellion) and though Vaquero knows my devotion to the works and has paid attention when I bring up Slotkin's analysis in pertinent ways, he's never read them. I think we'll start reading them aloud after finishing Greg's.
It's unbelievable how clenched in every bit of me I've been for days, now that -- for today anyway -- I've unclenched. I was able to bring back a few things for the neighbor across the hall -- she's just helpless. She doesn't cook. She doesn't even have a pot with a lid with which to make rice and doesn't know how to make rice anyway. Among the items I brought was Vaseline Petroleum Jelly. It's the only thing that gives relief and healing to our hands, which are constantly disinfecting and lathering. She didn't know either that vaseline does this. Vaseline was a staple on the farm when I was growing up.
I'd never ever in a billion years been able to guess in the misery of my growing up years that at the end of my life I'd be grateful for having been brought up on a farm and taught from the time I could walk and hold things to cook, clean, plan meals, organized a household.
There are so many people like my neighbor, who have been eating out (in her case various aid and assistance organizations for elderly people -- and they've all closed down -- they'd delivered meals too, and she got totally dependent on them) and never cooking) for years. One of our brilliant friends, who doesn't suffer any of the challenges and disabilities of our neighbor, told me once she refused to cook, even have a stove and dishes, because she couldn't stand washing dishes!
Every time --which is many times a day -- I wash dishes now, hands covered in hot water and soap, I feel I'm doing the right thing, and I feel safe. 😸
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