Welcome to my commonplace blog

The goal of this blog is to preserve a few ideas and quotes from books I read. In the old days when books were not so readily available, people kept "commonplace books" where they copied choice passages they wanted to be able to remember and perhaps reuse. The idea got picked up by V.F.D. and it's common knowledge that most of that organization's volunteers have kept commonplace books, and so have Laura and I.

I'm sure there are many other Internet sites and blogs dedicated to the same idea. But this one is mine. Feel free to look around and leave comments, but not spam.

24 December 2011

The Journey (Adam Hamilton)

Short meditation on the events leading up to the birth of Jesus. Emotional, touching at times, but for me, marred by too much imediacy ("how do you think Mary would have felt", etc, when realy, how can we possibly know that?).


Quotes:

Much of the Old Testament was written predicting, or in response to, the destruction of Israel. The northern half of the country was destroyed by the Assyrian Empire in 722 B.C. The southern half of the country, known as Judah, was destroyed by the Babylonian Empire in 587 or 586 B.C.

Kecharitomene is literally "one who has been filled with grace."

virginal conception is not mentioned by the apostle Paul or in the Gospels of Mark and John

Luke's begins in Nazareth with Mary. Matthew's story is set in Bethlehem. People tend to merge these accounts, which makes for a less-than-accurate view of what took place.

Joseph and Mary's engagement was most likely long-distance,

Unlike Nazareth, which was virtually unknown, Bethlehem was a well-known town. Though not large, it was known as the place where Rachel had died giving birth to Benjamin.
Bethlehem was also the setting of the Book of Ruth.
Yet it should be noted that even in the days of Joseph, the town of Bethlehem was primarily a working-class town of people who served the needs of those with resources in Jerusalem. Once more we find that God demonstrates a propensity to choose and use people who live in relative obscurity and whose lives and spirits reflect true humility.

"Jesus, like that first Immanuel, was a sign sent by God that you might know God is with you, that you might know he will never leave you, that you might know he will deliver you! What happened in the days of Isaiah is happening again!"

In so many ways today's Palestinians are modern-day Samaritans. Much of the West Bank was Samaria in the time of Jesus. The conflict between Jews and Palestinians defines life in the Holy Land today. Like so many first-century Jews, American Christians avoid passing through the West Bank territories or staying in West Bank towns like Bethlehem while visiting the Holy Land. Few of us have taken the time to understand the conflict.

21 December 2011

On Talking Terms With Dogs - Calming Signals (Turid Rugaas)

A short and excellent book that is a good companion to Patricia McConnel's books. Everyone who interacts with dogs (which is, potentially, everybody) should read this book. Understanding dog language will allow you a better rapport with our canine friends, and will very probably save you from a few bites as well.

If you're trying to figure out the name, she's Norwegian.


Quotes:

I have seen dog people (and some wolf people as well) caught up in the idea of always maintaining high rank by aggressive means, believing their only choices are between forcibly dominating the animal or submitting to it. The problem with this approach is two-fold. Firstly, aggression may well escalate, and secondly, an either-or choice between forcible dominance or submission is not the only choice available to wolves, to dogs or to humans.

Wolves and dogs try to avoid conflicts. They are conflict-solving animals.

When you jump and wave and scream a lot to make the dog run faster, it will often have the opposite effect. The dog gets slower in order to calm you down.

When you approach a dog that you want to put on leash, the slower you move, the better chance you have of making him stand still.

Bowing can be an invitation to play, particularly if the dog is jumping from side to side in a playful manner. If he stands still in a bow the possibility of it being a calming signal is high.
[...]
You can use a similar signal yourself by stretching your arms, rather like when you yawn, but stretching down towards the ground.

For a dog, lying down on his back, belly up, is submission. Lying down with his belly to the ground is an act of calming.

Sniffing is one of those signals that are difficult for people to use. I find it hard to practice sniffing. But something similar can be used: you might try sitting down, pretending to scratch the grass or to examine something on the floor.

Mature dogs do not usually go straight toward each other. They might, if they use other clear signals, but it is impolite to do so and most of them try to avoid it.

A wagging tail is not always a sign of happiness. In order to interpret it properly you need to look at the whole dog.

Dogs are experts at this. Conflict solving is a part of their heritage from their ancestors the wolves, and they read each other like we read books. It is a part of their survival instincts and pack behavior. We will never be as good at it as the dogs are, but we can understand more about what they are telling us. We can observe, understand, and let the dog know we understand. We can give signals back to reassure them we understand. We can communicate better during training and daily life together with our dog.

There is no, absolutely no, reason or excuse to punish, be violent, threatening, or forceful towards a dog or to demand too much of him.

Do not stoop towards the dog coming to you. If you do, in most cases he won't come all the way up to you at all, but will run past you, looking away from you. Stand upright, maybe with your side to the dog and then it is much more likely that he will come right up to you.

Do not hold a dog tight.

always let your dog have an "emergency exit" and let him use it if he feels like it

For many years it has been a myth that you have to take a leadership position to prevent a puppy from trying to take over and to be the boss. Many sad dog destinies and many problems have come out of that myth, and it is not the way it works. Stop using the word leadership, and use instead the word parenthood, as this is exactly what it should be.

Remember that every time you are close to a dog, you have a choice how to behave. You can act in a threatening or a friendly way. There is no, absolutely NO, excuse for scaring a dog.

If you want your dog to respect you, you must also respect your dog.

I feel privileged to be able to do what I have always wanted to do. I will go on doing it until the end of my days, using all my skills, my energy, and knowledge to help as many dogs as I can - doing something for dogs, because they have done so much for me.

18 December 2011

The New York Trilogy (Paul Auster)

Criss-crossing stories exchange themes and characters freely... characters and writer exchange places, fight and sometimes try to kill each other. This book can be read at different levels:

  1. A commentary in the art of creation and the relationship between creation and creator
  2. Does "truth" exist on its own, or only to the extent we create it?
  3. The complex relationships between language and reality.
  4. Construction and deconstruction of personality.
  5. Descent into madness through obssession.

Paul Auster hijacks the detective thriller form and makes it fit his own purposes masterfully, without losing anything in the process. These stories still read very well as thrillers.


Quotes:

Auster’s detectives are pilgrims, questers.
If the city is a forest and the detective is a pilgrim, the author is a pilgrim as well. He is the one who makes it out alive, who can exchange his story for supper and a bed of straw.

It was a wrong number that started it, the telephone ringing three times in the dead of night, and the voice on the other end asking for someone he was not.

“Is this Paul Auster?” asked the voice. “I would like to speak to Mr. Paul Auster.”

In effect, the writer and the detective are interchangeable. The reader sees the world through the detective’s eyes

I have not been hired to understand—merely to act.

“You see, the world is in fragments, sir. And it’s my job to put it back together again.”

But people change, don’t they? One minute we’re one thing, and then another another.

Memory is a great blessing, Peter. The next best thing to death.

“Lying is a bad thing. It makes you sorry you were ever born. And not to have been born is a curse. You are condemned to live outside time. And when you live outside time, there is no day and night. You don’t even get a chance to die.”

The red notebook, of course, is only half the story, as any sensitive reader will understand.

First of all there is Blue. Later there is White, and then there is Black, and before the beginning there is Brown. Brown broke him in, Brown taught him the ropes, and when Brown grew old, Blue took over. That is how it begins. The place is New York, the time is the present, and neither one will ever change.

In every report he has written so far, action holds forth over interpretation. For example: The subject walked from Columbus Circle to Carnegie Hall. No references to the weather, no mention of the traffic, no stab at trying to guess what the subject might be thinking. The report confines itself to known and verifiable facts, and beyond this limit it does not try to go.

This isn’t the story of my life, after all, he says. I’m supposed to be writing about him, not myself.

He says to himself: what happened is not really what happened. For the first time in his experience of writing reports, he discovers that words do not necessarily work, that it is possible for them to obscure the things they are trying to say.

What he does not know is that were he to find the patience to read the book in the spirit in which it asks to be read, his entire life would begin to change, and little by little he would come to a full understanding of his situation—that is to say, of Black, of White, of the case, of everything that concerns him.

Writing is a solitary business. It takes over your life. In some sense, a writer has no life of his own. Even when he’s there, he’s not really there.

But that was a long time ago. We grew up, went off to different places, drifted apart. None of that is very strange, I think. Our lives carry us along in ways we cannot control, and almost nothing stays with us. It dies when we do, and death is something that happens to us every day.

who wouldn’t jump at the chance to redeem himself—what man is strong enough to reject the possibility of hope?

Stories happen only to those who are able to tell them, someone once said.

Only darkness has the power to make a man open his heart to the world [...]
I had entered my own darkness, and it was there that I learned the one thing that is more terrible than anything else: that sexual desire can also be the desire to kill, that a moment comes when it is possible for a man to choose death over life.

I was a detective, after all, and my job was to hunt for clues.

A month is a long time, more than enough time for a man to come apart.

The same holds for the two books that come before it, City of Glass and Ghosts. These three stories are finally the same story, but each one represents a different stage in my awareness of what it is about.

This man was Fanshawe because I said he was Fanshawe, and that was all there was to it. Nothing could stop me anymore.

My name isn’t Fanshawe. It’s Stillman. Peter Stillman.

Names aren’t important, after all. What matters is that I know who you really are.

the truth was no longer important

I did not die there, but I came close, and there was a moment, perhaps there were several moments, when I tasted death, when I saw myself dead. There is no cure for such an encounter. Once it happens, it goes on happening; you live with it for the rest of your life.

You can’t possibly know what’s true or not true. You’ll never know.

All the words were familiar to me, and yet they seemed to have been put together strangely, as though their final purpose was to cancel each other out.

11 December 2011

The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency (Alexander McCall Smith)

I enjoyed this! I thought the male, English author got a very good perspective of the female African hero and all the other African characters. This is one of those books that make one fall in love with Africa all over again. And a very good detective book, too. It could be a good step up for the Nancy Drew readers, though it does have a small amount of adult content in it.

A sly look at the foibles and small evils of daily life, which includes the recognition that much more serious evil still lurks just beyond: “You can buy bones in Johannesburg. Did you not know that? They are not expensive.”


Quotes:

MMA RAMOTSWE had a detective agency in Africa, at the foot of Kgale Hill. These were its assets: a tiny white van, two desks, two chairs, a telephone, and an old typewriter. Then there was a teapot, in which Mma Ramotswe—the only lady private detective in Botswana—brewed redbush tea. And three mugs—one for herself, one for her secretary, and one for the client. What else does a detective agency really need?

Maybe you will find the real Daddy one day. Maybe not. But in the meantime, you can be happy again.

Some people think of God as a white man, which is an idea which the missionaries brought with them all those years ago and which seems to have stuck in people’s mind. I do not think this is so, because there is no difference between white men and black men; we are all the same; we are just people. And God was here anyway, before the missionaries came.

They kept us apart, because that is how they worked, these white men. The Swazis were all in one gang, and the Zulus in another, and the Malawians in another.

there are many sadnesses in the hearts of men who are far away from their countries.

He looked at me and nodded. Then he took my hand and shook it, which is the first time a white man had done that to me. So I called him my brother, which is the first time I had done that to a white man.

“We are the ones who first ploughed the earth when Modise (God) made it,” ran an old Setswana poem. “We were the ones who made the food. We are the ones who look after the men when they are little boys, when they are young men, and when they are old and about to die. We are always there. But we are just women, and nobody sees us.”

The Reverend looked down at the ground, which, in her experience, was where people usually looked if they felt truly sorry. The shamelessly unrepentant, she found, always looked up at the sky.

But Mma Malatsi was extraordinarily calm. “Well at least I know that he’s with the Lord,” she said. “And that’s much better than knowing that he’s in the arms of some other woman, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to be rude. You’ve lost your husband and you must be very sorry.” “A bit,” said Mma Malatsi. “But I have lots to do.”

To lose a child, like that, was something that could end one’s world. One could never get back to how it was before. The stars went out. The moon disappeared. The birds became silent.

It was curious how some people had a highly developed sense of guilt, she thought, while others had none. Some people would agonise over minor slips or mistakes on their part, while others would feel quite unmoved by their own gross acts of betrayal or dishonesty.

Mma Ramotswe laughed. “Do men really think they can fool us that easily?” she said. “Do they think we’re fools?” “I think they do,” said Mma Pekwane.

Yes—that was the difference between them. She was a fixer of lives—as so many women are—whereas he was a fixer of machines.

Lies are quite all right if you are lying for a good cause.

Hospitals were to her a memento mori in bricks and mortar; an awful reminder of the inevitable end that was coming to all of us but which she felt was best ignored while one got on with the business of life.

“If more women were in power, they wouldn’t let wars break out,” she said. “Women can’t be bothered with all this fighting. We see war for what it is—a matter of broken bodies and crying mothers.”
Dr Maketsi thought for a moment. He was thinking of Mrs Ghandi, who had a war, and Mrs Golda Meir, who also had a war, and then there was … “Most of the time,” he conceded. “Women are gentle most of the time, but they can be tough when they need to be.”

Mma Ramotswe did not want Africa to change. She did not want her people to become like everybody else, soulless, selfish, forgetful of what it means to be an African, or, worse still, ashamed of Africa. She would not be anything but an African, never, even if somebody came up to her and said “Here is a pill, the very latest thing. Take it and it will make you into an American.” She would say no. Never. No thank you.

There was so much suffering in Africa that it was tempting just to shrug your shoulders and walk away. But you can’t do that, she thought. You just can’t.

The woman looked at her scornfully “You can buy bones in Johannesburg. Did you not know that? They are not expensive.”

05 December 2011

Ashes (Ilsa J. Bick)

I see this book as a "YA" version of Conrad McCarthy's The Road, in that a mysterious event creates a harsh post-apocalyptic world with lots and lots of walking. "YA" meaning the characters talk, like, whatever. There are lots of yucky zombies and plenty of kewl ultraviolence.

I'm not sure i'd give this to one of my daughters to read because of the violence -- lots of people and dogs get killed in nasty ways. But i have to say, it is a fun and captivating read, with interesting characters and an unusual plot (although i thought it dragged a little in the middle). And a lot easier to read than The Road

Then there is an abrupt ending that makes more sense now that i found out that this is the first book of a planned trilogy.


Quotes:

Everyone was always so sorry when, really, sorry was just a word you said because it was more polite than whoa, better you than me.

“Oh.” Silence. “I wish I could do it all over again.” “Do what?” “Everything.

“As long as you’re alive, there is hope,” Jess said. “Hope is saying that I will live one more day, and that is a blessing, too.”

“Free will’s okay,” said Kincaid. “Only look where it got Adam.”

“You only want to brawl. You want a fight. Fighting tricks you into believing you can change the past, even when the past is dead and gone and all of it ashes,” said Jess.

Obeying orders just to obey is the mark of a person who has ceased to think. Remember, it is better to suffer for doing what is right than for doing what is wrong. Don’t fool yourself, Christopher. Peace comes with a price.”

30 November 2011

Common Prayer - A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals

This is the prayer book for Shane Claiborne's "new monastic" community - a Christian commune of sorts. It contains a detailed morning devotion for each day of the year, with readings from the Old Testament, New Testament and Psalms, prayers, songs, and a quote from a saint. It also contains special prayers, and outline for night devotions, and a songbook.

Perhaps what distinguishes this one from other devotional guides is the attempt to integrate into the traditional calendar of church saints, some of the more modern ones, like Bonhoeffer, Martin Luther King, Doris Day, Dom Helder Câmara, Oscar Romero, and Gandhi, among others. It draws from activist and mystical strains in Christian history in a way that matches the goals of the new monastic movement itself. Even the songbook by itself is worth having.


Quotes:

God has created an economy in which there is enough, that God has not created a world of scarcity with too many people or too little stuff. As Gandhi said, “There is enough for everyone’s need but not enough for everyone’s greed.”

One of the signs of the birthday of the church is that they ended poverty. But it was not just a systemic thing; it was a love thing.

“When I fed the poor they called me a saint, when I asked why they were poor, they called me a Communist.” (Dom Helder Câmara)

Peace is the generous, tranquil contribution of all to the good of all. Oscar Romero

Liturgy is public poetry and art.

So it is with worship. More important than whether something is old or new, winsome or classic is whether it is real.

We pledge allegiance to the Lamb : and to the kingdom for which he stands.

Desert father Abba Anthony said, “A time is coming when men will go mad, and when they see someone who is not mad, they will attack him saying, ‘You are mad, you are not like us.’”

“It helps, now and then, to step back and take the long view. The Kingdom is not only beyond our efforts: it is beyond our vision. We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is the Lord’s work. Nothing we do is complete, which is another way of saying that the Kingdom always lies beyond us. No sermon says all that should be said. No prayer fully expresses our faith. No confession brings perfection. No pastoral visit brings wholeness. No program accomplishes the Church’s mission. No set of goals and objectives includes everything. That is what we are about. We plant the seeds that one day will grow. We water seeds already planted knowing they hold future promise. We lay foundations that will need further development. We provide yeast that affects far beyond our capabilities. We cannot do everything and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something, and to do it very, very well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest. We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the Master Builder and the worker. We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future that is not our own.” (Oscar Romero)

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, a twentieth-century Jesuit philosopher, prayed, “Since once again, Lord, I have neither bread nor wine nor altar, I will raise myself beyond these symbols, up to the pure majesty of the real itself; I, your priest, will make the whole earth my altar and on it will offer you all the labors and suffering of the world.”

If you have the internet or a printed calendar, it’s pretty easy to look up the date of Easter. (Or, if you want to figure it out for yourself, Easter is the first Sunday after the coming of the first full moon after the vernal equinox.)

Discontentment is a gift to the church.

As Gandhi said, “Be the change you want to see in the world.” Our invitation is to “be the change” we want to see in the church.

We shouldn’t be too surprised that the church is a mess. After all, it’s made up of people. [...]
Augustine said, “The church is a whore, but she’s our mother.”

God has died in the flesh and hell trembles with fear. He has gone to search for our first parents, as for lost sheep. Greatly desiring to visit those who live in darkness and in the shadow of death, he has gone to free from sorrow the captives Adam and Eve, he who is both God and the son of Eve.

‘All the Way to heaven is Heaven, because He said I am the Way.’” St. Catherine of Siena:

Mary Oliver’s poem “Praying” reads: It doesn’t have to be the blue iris, it could be weeds in a vacant lot, or a few small stones; just pay attention, then patch a few words together and don’t try to make them elaborate, this isn’t a contest but the doorway into thanks, and a silence in which another voice may speak.

So much of our culture is built around moving away from people rather than closer to them. [...]
We are some of the wealthiest and loneliest societies the world has ever seen. [...]
Commitment to a people and a place is one of the countercultural values at the heart of the gospel.

Letter to Diognetus, whose author is unknown: “Christians live in their own countries, but only as guests and aliens. They take part in everything as citizens and endure everything as aliens They are as poor as beggars, and yet they make many rich. They lack everything, and yet they have everything in abundance. They are dishonored, and yet have their glory in this very dishonor…. They are abused, yet they bless…. In a word: what the soul is in the body, the Christians are in the world.”

Peacemaking doesn’t mean passivity. It is the act of interrupting injustice without mirroring injustice, the act of disarming evil without destroying the evildoer, the act of finding a third way that is neither fight nor flight but the careful, arduous pursuit of reconciliation and justice. [...] As we look at history, and even as we read the Scriptures, there seems to be evidence that violence has worked at times and failed at times, just as nonviolence has worked at times and failed at times. In the end, the question is, Which looks most like Jesus? For we are called not just to be successful but to be faithful to the way of the cross, even unto death.

liturgy protects us from simply making worship into a self-pleasing act

Confessional prayer assumes that our worship takes place in a deeply flawed community. The church has always been a worrisome and dysfunctional place. But by grace we can take small steps to restore trust.

Dom Helder Camara, a twentieth-century bishop in Brazil, said, “When I feed the poor, they call me a saint, but when I ask why the poor are hungry, they call me a Communist.”

Ask your pastor to remove the US flag from the altar, or to include the flags from the other 195 countries of the world.

Like any culture, we who follow the way of Jesus have distinct ways of eating and partying, different from the culture of consumption, homogeneity, and hedonism. Our homes, our living rooms, even our parties can become places of solace and hospitality for those with addictions and struggles. But it doesn’t happen without intentionality. Dorothy Day said, “We have to create an environment where it is easier to be good.”

Andy Raine of the Northumbria Community has written, “Do not hurry as you walk with grief; it does not help the journey. Walk slowly, pausing often: do not hurry as you walk with grief. Be not disturbed by memories that come unbidden. Swiftly forgive; and let Christ speak for you unspoken words. Unfinished conversation will be resolved in him. Be not disturbed. Be gentle with the one who walks with grief. If it is you, be gentle with yourself. Swiftly forgive; walk slowly, pausing often. Take time, be gentle as you walk with grief.”

In the church, we celebrate martyrs and saints, not warriors and conquistadors.

Catholic peace activist Jim Douglass has written, “The Cold War has been followed by its twin, the War on Terror. We are engaged in another apocalyptic struggle against an enemy seen as absolute evil.

Twentieth-century peace activist A. J. Muste often said, “There is no way to peace, peace itself being the way.”

American farmer and poet Wendell Berry has written, “Sabbath observance invites us to stop. It invites us to rest. It asks us to notice that while we rest, the world continues without our help. It invites us to delight in the world’s beauty and abundance.”

29 November 2011

Confidence Men: Wall Street, Washington, and the Education of a President (Ron Suskind)

A sympathetic if mildly damning review of the first two years of Barack Obama's government, with a really wicked title, when you think of it. Con men?

The main idea is that politics and finance in the USA have become a game of confidence. The manufacturing of confidence, or the appearance of confidence divorced from competence has come to rule the "two capitals", Washington and Wall Street.

The most interesting thing for me in reading this book was to get the background on many of the recent events in American politics and finance, reading about these things and remembering having actually seen them happen. It is a good explanation as any of why President Obama was not able to fulfill his own hopes and expectations in the first two years of his reign. We follow the President from crisis to crisis as he struggles to keep his head above water while dealing not only with almost impossible political and economic troubles, but a clutch of headstrong advisers led by Larry Summers and Rahm Emanuel, who seem themselves as master puppeteers.

The book ends in a note of hope, as Obama cleans house after the mid-term "shellacking" and seems to finally figure it out, leading to a series of modest but important victories.

“I think where the evolution has taken place,” Barack Obama said finally, looking into the middle distance, “is understanding that leadership in this office is not a matter of you being confident. Leadership in this office is a matter of helping the American people feel confident.”


Quotes:

By being himself—an alluring and inspiring self, supremely confident yet expressing humility, speaking powerfully of grabbing history’s arc and bending it toward justice—Obama became the first black president. But more and more, walking the halls of this building, he doesn’t feel like himself—someone who could bring people together, who could map common ground and, upon it, build a future.

Confidence, in fact, was Geithner’s currency. He viewed his role, then and later, as assuring confidence in the financial markets, by any means necessary, at whatever cost.

This is how financial firms die in this era. It’s not from losses, or declining revenues. It happens when they can’t roll their debts—essentially replacing old credit cards with new ones, every day.

But gazing now at Obama, who talked warmly, sympathetically, with those facing fiscal ruin, Warren couldn’t help but wonder if the country might soon have a president who would fight, really fight, for the little guy.

It all boils down to the classic Larry Summers problem: he can frame arguments with such force and conviction that people think he knows more than he does.

“A few weeks ago, John McCain said that the economy is ‘fundamentally strong,’ and a few days later George Bush said the same thing. In fact, Senator McCain has said that we made ‘great progress economically’ over the last eight years. And here’s the thing. I think they truly believe it.” (Barack Obama)

“This I know,” Obama said. “When I raise my hand and take that oath of office, I think the world will look at us differently. And millions of kids across the country will look at themselves differently.”

As was so often the case, people saw in Obama largely what they wanted to see.

Obama, after all, had selected for his top domestic officials two men whose actions had contributed to the very financial disaster they were hired to solve.

On Wall Street, any firm with compensation barriers would just have its employees stolen by a competitor who was not similarly restricted.

As the president tried to rise to the demands of his job, the White House was increasingly being directed by a back-channel union between two forceful men: Rahm Emanuel and Larry Summers.

Rahm Emanuel waited until the president was fully out of the room and then seized the floor. “Everyone shut the fuck up. Let me be clear—taking down the banking system in a program that could cost $700 billion is a fantasy.

The administration’s domestic policy was fast becoming a debate society run by Larry Summers.

Improbable combinations, blended solutions, the integrating of opposites. This was the Obama method, in his life and in his work. But he hadn’t gotten elected simply to search for this clever version of the middle ground. He’d been elected at a time of peril to change the country’s course.

he missed some opportunities to show that America hadn’t necessarily gone from a country that makes things to one that makes things up

Confidence is the public face of competence. Separating the two—gaining the trust without earning it—is the age-old work of confidence men.

“I mean it,” Summers stressed. “We’re home alone. There’s no adult in charge. Clinton would never have made these mistakes.”

The Tea Party movement, fueled by Fox News, rose out of the heartland and spread. Talk of “death panels,” another brilliant bit of rhetorical mischief from the Republican Party, dominated the airwaves. Obama and his surrogates spent much of July trying to wash the smell of death panels off their skin like someone who’d been in a bad run-in with a skunk.

moving from partnerships to publicly traded corporations in the early 1980s—allowing partners to take their money off the table and replace it with other people’s money, thereby severing the bonds of caution and shared risk—marked the moment Wall Street started to grow into a destructive force

The Obama presidency didn’t end in the fall of 2009, but it came close.

If there was, in fact, a single operational victory in this period, it involved secrecy: the strife inside the White House was largely kept from public view. Rather than the Cheney-driven secrecy models of the Bush days—where cell phones were White House–issue and where problematic phone numbers, such as those of major newspapers, were regularly searched through shadow directories—the Obama secrecy was born of old-fashioned loyalty.

The dilemma, at that juncture, had two edges. Do anything necessary, at any cost, to win Massachusetts; and use the threat of a loss, and the loss of the filibuster-proof majority in the Senate, to get an emergency reconciliation, in a matter of days, of the two competing health care bills. The White House did neither.

By early 2010 the banks had, in fact, notched their easiest victory in years by simply lending that fresh Fed money back to the planet’s largest, safest, and still hungriest customer for debt: the U.S. government itself.

while investing in America is passé—returns are much better overseas—anticipating U.S. regulatory moves and trading accordingly is one of America’s signature growth industries

Like so many other disasters in this period, the [BP Gulf of Mexico] spill was the result of executives pushing themselves to the very edge of legal limits, and then beyond, in the name of short-term profit.

Both Presidents Roosevelt—one Republican, the other Democrat—would have said, if they could still walk upright, that government should not be a friend of business; that business can take care of itself; and that government has more important work to do, to carry forward the “greatest good for the greatest number.”

what Voigtman had just described to Gensler went far beyond the prudent hedging of downside risk. It was Goldman building customized weapons to take advantage of a unique, once-in-a-lifetime market-driven disaster that no one could have foreseen. No one except someone who had helped construct it, by providing the “liquidity” of a burgeoning menu of short-side products, to sate all the “upside” thirst in the world.

Those amendments, complex and esoteric to the passive onlooker, were all variations on the same melody: how to prevent the systemic risk of “too big to fail.”
[...]
One by one, in spite of bipartisan support, they had all failed.

GDP or unemployment rates—imperfect measurements to start with—are often quietly changed several months after their news cycle-driving “release” has already had a profound effect on politics, public statements, quickly fashioned policies, and, by association, public confidence.

If the election had proven anything, it was that American politics were still a realm of striking volatility. Obama had fallen from historic highs to crushing defeat in just two short years. But it was also a reminder that, from now on, anything could happen.

Nearly 30 percent of Medicare costs are spent on end-of-life care, a stunning figure considering that most beneficiaries arrive into Medicare at sixty-five and the average life expectancy is seventy-nine. In the last year of life, covered medical costs average nearly $30,000.

I, like many Americans, felt a surge of pride when an African American was elected president. It took some time for me to see him simply as a man, with the full complement of gifts and faults, occupying the White House.

27 November 2011

The Water Is Wide (Pat Conroy)

One of the best books i've read this year. A powerful, honest account of trying hard to help people against impossible odds, and the growing that came with it.


Quotes:

I was becoming convinced that the world was a colorful, variegated grab bag full of bastards.

The children were subdued, passive, and exceedingly polite. [...] It was a yes-sir, no-sir world I had entered. [...] On Mrs. Brown’s desk was an item that caught and held my eye. It was a leather strap, smooth and very thick.

Only a thoroughbred do-gooder can appreciate the feeling, the roseate, dawnlike, and nauseating glow that enveloped me on the return trip that day. I had found a place to absorb my wildest do-gooding tendency.

I know colored people better than you do. That’s because I am one myself. You have to keep your foot on them all the time. Step on them. Step on them every day and keep steppin’ on them when they gets out of line. If you have any trouble, Mama Brown will be right next door.

Sweet little Jesus, I thought, as I weaved between the desks, these kids don’t know crap.

“I slop de hog. I feed de cow. I feed two dog. I go to Savannah on the boat.”

“Have you ever heard of the United States of America?” I asked. “Oh, yeh,” Mary, one of the eighth-grade girls said. “I heared it. I heared it in I pledge a legent to the flag of United States of America.”

Among the peoples of the world I am not universally admired for the bell-like clarity of my diction. Words slide out of my mouth like fat fish.

“Saul,” I intoned, trying to sound like a miniature Yahweh.

Christ must do a lot of puking when he reflects upon the good works done in his name.

“Good Christian people” was the most cynical epithet in Zeke’s repertoire. He and Ida had been very active members of the local Baptist church until the congregation voted to close the church if a nigger ever tried to attend a service. Zeke and Ida simply never went back after that.

One attribute made this house a palace on Yamacraw. It possessed a shiny, glistening white commode, a treasure of inestimable value and an invention that overshadows the wheel as necessary for man’s comfort and convenience.

One noteworthy thing about South Carolina is the quality of school-bus drivers in the state. To qualify for a bus license one must have reached puberty and be able to recite the alphabet without stuttering.

parables of love and Jesus sung by a blue-eyed mother, a renegade Baptist, a converted Catholic, a soldier of the Lord

I could hear some white voice coming from some collective unconscious deep within me saying, “They don’t know any better. They are happy this way.” Yet all around me, in the grinning faces of my students, I could see a crime, so ugly that it could be interpreted as a condemnation of an entire society, a nation be damned, a history of wickedness—these children before me did not have a goddam chance of sharing in the incredible wealth and affluence of the country that claimed them, a country that failed them, a country that needed but did not deserve deliverance.

life was good, but it was hard; we would prepare to meet it head on, but we would enjoy the preparation

Richie Matta, whose career sparked brightly then faded like memory when he left the Delta, made his comeback and made it big with eighteen kids on Yamacraw Island.

It took me a long time but I soon became aware of an underlying, pervasive fixation for violence among the people of the island.

Of course, I understood very well why people drank on the island. It was the single form of entertainment, the social medium that bound the island together, the only sport, the only recreation, the focal point of island activity.

Yet I worried that I did things more by instinct than by logic and would be hard-pressed to explain why I let the twins mold clay when their literacy was questionable, except that they seemed to enjoy it.

And in that single moment I realized something very important. Piedmont could not scare me. Nor could Bennington. Nor could the assembled board of education in all its measly glory. For in crossing the river twice daily I had come closer to more basic things.

His power was economic and emotional, not spiritual or supernatural. Compared to the river that flowed even as we stared sullenly at each other, Piedmont was a nothing and so was I.

My friends were a strange conglomerate of long-hairs, Marines, and the attractive wives of powerful husbands.

On June 30, 1970, before mother, wife, and friends, Conrack let the bastards have it.

I do not react well to crisis. My first thought was to race over to Piedmont’s house, knock at his door, and put a fist against his jaw.

I learned that politicians are not supposed to help people. They simply listen to people, nod their heads painfully, commiserate at proper intervals, promise to do all they can, and then do nothing.

Conrack discovered that afternoon, much to his dismay, that he had a bit of demagogue in him.

In essence, I tried to teach them to embrace life openly, to reflect upon its mysteries, rejoice in its surprises, and to reject its cruelties. Like other teachers, I failed. Teaching is a record of failures. But the glory of teaching is in the attempt.

SO CONRACK, defrocked and slightly dishonored, retired to his room to write about his year on Yamacraw.

I saw the necessity of living and accepting bullcrap in my midst.

To survive in the future I would have to learn the complex art of ass-kissing, that honorable American custom that makes the world go ’round. Survival is the most important thing. As a bona fide ass-kisser, I might lose a measure of self-respect, but I could be teaching and helping kids.

I also saw that Piedmont and Bennington were not evil men. They were just predictably mediocre.

They did not feel the need for redemption, because they had already been redeemed.

24 November 2011

Great Expectations (Charles Dickens)

I enjoyed reading this book with Laura. The reason we picked it was because it was one of the books the librarian recommends to Matilda in the Roald Dahl book. I was pleasantly surprised, especially by the excellent characters. The plot is full of twists and unpredictable. I'm glad we read it.


Quotes:

I was too cowardly to do what I knew to be right, as I had been too cowardly to avoid doing what I knew to be wrong.

And it were my intentions to have had put upon his tombstone that Whatsume’er the failings on his part, Remember reader he were that good in his hart.”

And the communication I have got to make is, that he has great expectations.

21 November 2011

The Canterbury Tales - a retelling (Peter Ackroyd, Geoffrey Chaucer))

A readable rendering of the tales in prose. My first reading of the Canterbury Tales. Good stuff!


Quotes:

When the soft sweet showers of April reach the roots of all things, refreshing the parched earth, nourishing every sapling and every seedling, then humankind rises up in joy and expectation.

After the waste of winter it is delightful to hear birdsong once more in the streets. The trees themselves are bathed in song. It is a time of renewal, of general restoration.

On our way to Canterbury each of you will tell two stories. As every traveller knows, tales shorten journeys. Then on the way back to London, each pilgrim will tell two more. [...] The pilgrim who tells the best story, by common consent, will be awarded a free supper paid for by the rest.

‘Why do so many people complain of the actions of providence, or the decisions of God Himself, when their eventual fate is better than any they could possibly have imagined? Some men long for riches, but at the expense of their health and even of their lives. Some men desire to escape from prison, as I once did, only to be murdered in the households of their kin. In hope and ambition there lie infinite harms. We do not know the answers to our prayers.

We fare as one who wanders drunk through the streets; he knows that he has a house, somewhere, but he cannot remember the name of the street. His is a long and wayward journey. So do we fare in this fallen world. We search for felicity down every lane and alley, but often enough we take the wrong path.

‘The whole world is an inn,’ our Host said. ‘And the end of the journey is always the same.’

His wife came from a noble family, and her father was the parson of the town.

I really do not know a tale that Geoffrey Chaucer has not already told.

I hope that none of you priests and nuns will be angry with me, but I must say this. We have been given our private parts for pleasure as well as necessity. We must procreate as well as pee, within the limits set by God.

So I tell you all this. You must pay for what you want. Everything in this world is for sale. An empty hand lures no hawk.

F--- you, Friar!

That is why there are no more fairies. The friars now tread upon the elvish paths, morning and evening, saying their matins and their other holy offices; where there were once pixies there are now prayers. Of course a woman can feel much safer, knowing that there won’t be an evil spirit beneath a bush or tree. She may meet a friar, of course. But he will take only her chastity, not her soul.

There is one thing I can say for certain, sirs and dames. If two lovers want to remain in love, they had better accede to each other’s wishes. Love will not be constrained by domination.

Patience is a great virtue and, as the scholars tell us, will accomplish what the exercise of power never can achieve.

Many sermons, and devotional homilies, spring from bad intentions.

You know well enough that a woman wants six things. I am no different. She wants a husband to be healthy and wise, wealthy and generous; she wants him to be obedient to his wife, and good in bed. Just those six things. Is that too much to ask?

Forgive me, Mr Chaucer. I must speak my mind. Your story is not worth a s---. What is the point of it?

I am tired of stories about patient wives. They do not exist.

‘Well, sir,’ our Host said to the Nun’s Priest. ‘Blessed be your bum and balls!

‘One Lord. One faith. One God. One Christendom. One father who rules over heaven and earth.’

Do you see how this villain lured his prey? He granted the priest a favour the priest had not asked for. That kind of favour bodes no good.

But all precautions are useless. A good wife, innocent in thought and deed, should not be watched or doubted; if the wife is not so good, you cannot hold her down. I take it as a law that you cannot restrain a woman who wants to roam. Every writer concurs on that subject.

In the same way there is no difference between a usurping tyrant and a thief or outlaw. They are exactly the same. Alexander the Great was once told that a tyrant who burns down homes, slaughters his enemies and destroys land is acclaimed as a great general and leader; a small-time thief who does not have armies, and who can only rob a few houses without doing much damage, is damned as a rogue and criminal.

So take heed of this story and remember to think before you speak. Guard your tongue. Never tell a man that his wife has been unfaithful to him. Whether you are right or wrong, he will hate you for it.

17 November 2011

The Last Werewolf (Glen Duncan)

A pretty nasty book with "guilty pleasure" written all over it. One can feel the catharsis the author must have had when writing this. In the end a pretty good book if you can stand the nastiness, which is, i realize, more or less the point. In a world where morality has been transcended, questions of good and evil keep popping up at inconvenient times. Can true love really exist between werewolves? And what would Buffy do?


Quotes:

In Buffy there’d be a howlers’ singles bar or dating agency. Not in the real world.

Two nights ago I’d eaten a forty-three-year-old hedge fund specialist. I’ve been in a phase of taking the ones no one wants.

I knew—it was passed from him to me, the old dull divine truth—that no ecstatic union compares with killing the thing you love.

You don’t know what you’ve been waiting for until it arrives. We froze. She looked into my eyes. She said, “It’s you.”

I could never have not loved her without becoming someone else. But I had become someone else.

At the true end of life one doesn’t care how one’s come to death. I wasn’t Jacob, or her husband, or her killer, or a monster; I was just the thing that had unlocked the door.

In fact let me deal with this as straightforwardly as possible: Werewolves and vampires don’t get on.

Half the “reconstruction” contracts for postwar Iraq went on no-bids to vampire-owned companies (whose funding favours, dear President Obama, the Republicans will be calling in about now).

He stood in the kitchen doorway, a lean pug-faced young vampire in combat trousers and leather bike jacket with eyebrow piercings and bleached white hair cropped close to his skull, holding a bulky rifle.

You think horror enters spectacularly. It doesn’t. It just prosaically turns up.

being forced into something when all I wanted was nothing

You love life because life’s all there is, Harley had insisted. There’s no God and that’s His only Commandment.

Ellis’s money was on guilt, conscience, responsibility—mine. Grainer’s was on eye-for-an-eye vengeance—mine. New and Old Testaments respectively.

READER, I ATE HIM.

You pull your trousers on and everything seems fractionally less desperate.

Only meaning can make a difference and we all know there’s no meaning. All stories express a desire for meaning, not meaning itself. Therefore any difference knowing the story makes is a delusion.

Humanity’s getting its metamorphic kicks elsewhere these days. When you can watch the alchemy that turns morons into millionaires and gimps into global icons, where’s the thrill in men who turn into wolves?

The greatest gift of lycanthropy is knowing smoking won’t kill you.

We found ways. This is the story, the human story, the werewolf story, the life story: One finds ways.

“It got easier,” I said. “It’s easier than ever now, if you’ve got money. It’s always money.

Somewhere in the sex was the understanding that love was among other things making room for the beloved’s irrational vengeances.

Money’s not legal tender in the moral world.

Evil has to be chosen.

His consciousness was like a lethal ocean undertow. Before you knew it you were in colder water, miles from shore.

06 November 2011

Absurdistan: A Novel (Gary Shteyngart)

Beautiful book, at turns funny and sad, reminds me of Daniel Pinkwater. This one is not for young readers, though. Can one person change the world? Will the overweight clueless antihero find happiness? Delivered with astute social comentary that skewers both sides of the iron curtain, Jews, Gentiles and Halliburton (Golly Burton). With a chilling reference to "9/11" thrown in with extreme nonchalance.


Quotes:

This is a book about love. [...]
This is also a book about too much love. It’s a book about being had. [...]
This is a book about love. But it’s also a book about geography.

capitalist iconography (cigarette ads featuring an American football player catching a hamburger with a baseball mitt)

This is what happens when you don’t learn English, by the way. You’re always at a loss for words.

“If you want to be a Russian,” Svetlana told my friend, “you have to think of what kind of image you want to project. Everyone already thinks we’re bandits and whores. We’ve got to rebrand ourselves.”

Papa. I’m stuck in this horrible country because you killed a businessman from Oklahoma, and all I can do is remember how you once were; to commemorate the life of a near-saint, this is the burden of your only child.

I naturally settled my gaze on the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center, those emblematic honeycombed 110-story giants that glowed white gold in the afternoon sun. They looked to me like the promise of socialist realism fulfilled, boyhood science fiction extended into near-infinity.

See, when you’re cultured, being middle class is enough.

It was a shtetl funeral, in many ways, a kind of impromptu klezmer act minus the musical instruments.

I’ll always associate self-laundered socks with democracy and the primacy of the middle class.

Let me give you an idea of this Jerry Shteynfarb. He had been a schoolmate of mine at Accidental College, a perfectly Americanized Russian émigré (he came to the States as a seven-year-old) who managed to use his dubious Russian credentials to rise through the ranks of the Accidental creative writing department and to sleep with half the campus in the process. After graduation, he made good on his threat to write a novel, a sad little dirge about his immigrant life, which seems to me the luckiest kind of life imaginable. I think it was called The Russian Arriviste’s Hand Job or something of the sort. The Americans, naturally, lapped it up.

I was having some kind of Dostoyevsky moment. I wanted to redeem everyone in sight.

Whatever you may think of Judaism, Lyuba, in the end it’s just a codified system of anxieties. It’s a way to keep an already nervous and maligned people in check.

Words have consequences.

I tried to go to sleep, but there was nothing to dream about, except the usual Eastern European nonsense about a man sailing an inflatable Fanta bottle around the world looking for happiness.

Everything has its limits!

I turned to the window to watch our plane follow the curves of the Danube as the orderly Austrian houses with their peaked roofs and backyard swimming pools turned into the housing projects surrounding the stumpy castle of Bratislava, Slovakia, which in turn gave way to the melancholy buildup of Budapest

A passing T-62 had begun to rotate its barrel our way, like a slow child trying to make friends.

I put on a pair of gigantic square sunglasses and slipped into my roomiest vintage tracksuit, the one that prodded my stomach forward and held it prominently in place, so that altogether I resembled the infamous North Korean playboy Kim Jong Il. It was time, as Dr. Levine would say, to go for a walk.

“Think one person can change the world, Misha?” he said at last. “Yes,” I said. “I really do. Do you?”

Who would I like to be when I grew up? This was a question that haunted people of my generation well into their forties.

Like any empire in decline, ours was becoming ever more brilliant at knocking things apart, at raising palls of smoke over cratered school yards and charred market stalls.

Even among the most thoroughly secular and unaffiliated young Jews, the Holocaust enjoys great name recognition.

I thought I was Differrent and had a Special Story to tell but I guess I’m not and I dont.

The towers that had risen over the city as a watermark of Euro-American civilization were work hives and nothing more. As quickly as they had been put together, they could be taken apart.

“I know a fairy tale,” the girl said in her syrupy little girl’s voice. “It’s about a fishee that gets caught in the sea and then the fisherman plucks the fishee’s eyes out so she can’t swim back, and then he cuts her stomach open to take out the caviar—”

“I am very honored,” he said. “The Jewish people have a long and peaceful history in our land. They are our brothers, and whoever is their enemy is our enemy also. When you are in Absurdsvanï, my mother will be your mother, my wife your sister, and you will always find water in my well to drink.”

“We’re not required to love it,” Dror said of Israel. “Just to make sure it exists.”

‘Think Bosnia’ became everyone’s motto. ‘How can we make this place more like Bosnia?’ I mean, you’ve got to hand it to Halliburton. If Joseph Heller were still alive, they’d probably ask him to be on their board.”

Good morning, respected passenger! Today is Monday, September 10, 2001

You’ve done me wrong, Rouenna. It’s okay. I’ll do you wrong, too. I can’t change the world, much less myself. But I know that we are not meant to live apart.

Oh, my sweet endless Rouenna. Have faith in me. On these cruel, fragrant streets, we shall finish the difficult lives we were given.

28 October 2011

True Grit (Charles Portis)

A classic. Amazingly well written, short and to the point. This is a book that takes many readings. I have not seen either of the movies.


Quotes:

People do not give it credence that a fourteen-year-old girl could leave home and go off in the wintertime to avenge her father’s blood but it did not seem so strange then, although I will say it did not happen every day. I was just fourteen years of age when a coward going by the name of Tom Chaney shot my father down in Fort Smith, Arkansas, and robbed him of his life and his horse and $150 in cash money plus two California gold pieces that he carried in his trouser band.

this was a Republican gang that cared nothing for the opinion of the good people of Arkansas who are Democrats

You must pay for everything in this world one way and another. There is nothing free except the Grace of God. You cannot earn that or deserve it.

“They tell me you are a man with true grit.”

I say nothing against the Cumberlands. They broke with the Presbyterian Church because they did not believe a preacher needed a lot of formal education. That is all right but they are not sound on Election. They do not fully accept it. I confess it is a hard doctrine, running contrary to our earthly ideas of fair play, but I can see no way around it. Read I Corinthians 6: 13 and II Timothy 1: 9, 10. Also I Peter 1: 2, 19, 20 and Romans 11: 7. There you have it. It was good for Paul and Silas and it is good enough for me. It is good enough for you too.

I said my prayers but did not mention my discomfort. This trip was my own doing.

“Ned does not go around killing people if he has no good reason. If he has a good reason he kills them.”

21 October 2011

The Hangman's Daughter (Oliver Pötzsch)

Exciting mystery with unconventional characters, well written, bogus ending. The usual. It treats the subject of torture seriously without being repugnant. Worth a read.


Quotes:

Jakob grabbed a few ropes from the chest way back in the stable and stuffed them into a sack together with the chains, the rusty pincers, and the linen rags used for mopping up the blood.

“It’s the wrong people that suffer, not the poor. The wrong ones!”

Martha Stechlin’s screams rose from the torture cellar through the narrow windows of the keep into the town. Anyone in the vicinity briefly interrupted their work and crossed themselves or prayed a Hail Mary. Then they continued whatever they had been doing.

His arm, from the elbow to the fingertips, was composed of pieces of bone held together by copper wires passed through holes drilled in the bone.

15 October 2011

You Have To Stop This (Pseudonymous Bosch)

The "secret" series comes to an end with an unexpectedly strong conclusion, IMHO every bit as good as the first one ("The Name Of This Book Is Secret"). Questions of the meaning of life, friendship, growing up, intermingle in a very interesting book which i found very difficult to put down. Is the ultimate secret the final answer or just another question? Is the end just another beginning? Well done, PB!

08 October 2011

Cryptonomicon (Neal Stephenson)

I've wanted to ready this one for a long time, but didn't want to commit the time. Now it's done. I like it, but i think i like Anathem better. The author has had time to develop... The 2 books have much in common, and both start real slow and eventually build to a frenzy.

The computer stuff in Cryptonomicon is interesting and almost right, but i know too much about computers and encryption to find this stuff cool. The really cool thing about this book (as it is about Anathem) is how Stephenson is able to build a crazy alternative world that is completely insane and also completely real, so much that you start to question the reality of the so-called real world. Did it really happen this way? Well, didn't it?


Quotes:

As nightmarishly lethal, memetically programmed death-machines went, these were the nicest you could ever hope to meet.

Fifteen seconds later, Randy was out on the sidewalk, swiping his card through a pay phone like an assassin drawing a single-edged razor blade across the throat of a tubby politician.

As soon as he got through the formalities at the airport, he perceived that the Philippines are, like Mexico, one of those countries where Shoes Matter.

Bobby soon learns the trick that his father and his uncles and granduncles all knew [about war], which is that you never talk about the specifics of what happened over there.

Waterhouse has been trying to invent a new cryptosystem based upon alternative systems of pronouncing words and hasn’t said anything in quite a while.

we find ourselves in the oddest situation that has ever faced a pair of allies in a war. We know everything, Commander Waterhouse.

He knows that these demure girls, obediently shuffling reams of gibberish through their machines, shift after shift, day after day, have killed more men than Napoleon.

“Windows 95, for games and when I need to let some lamer borrow my computer temporarily,” Avi says. “Windows NT for office type stuff. BeOS for hacking, and screwing around with media. Finux for industrial-strength typesetting.”

It would be an idyllic tropical paradise if not for the malaria, the insects, the constant diarrhea and resulting hemorrhoids, and the fact that the people are dirty and smell bad and eat each other and use human heads for decoration.

THE UNITED STATES Military (Waterhouse has decided) is first and foremost an unfathomable network of typists and file clerks, secondarily a stupendous mechanism for moving stuff from one part of the world to another, and last and least a fighting organization.

“It seems that, while I have been sneaking around the Atlantic, doing my duty—the Führer has come up with a little incentive program.” (Bishop)

Two large black Mercedes issue from the forest, like bad ideas emerging from the dim mind of a green lieutenant.

“Well the short answer is that we won because the Germans worshipped Ares and we worshipped Athena.” (Enoch Root)

“Gold is the corpse of value,” says Goto Dengo.

30 September 2011

Complete Poems (Emily Dickinson)

From the sublime to the almost banal, from the wow! to the huh? and all the places in between. What an interesting person she must have been.


06 September 2011

Blink: the power of thinking without thinking (Malcolm Gladwell)

Blink is cool! An attempt to understand and harness and control instinct.


Quotes:

The first task of Blink is to convince you of a simple fact: decisions made very quickly can be every bit as good as decisions made cautiously and deliberately.

So, when should we trust our instincts, and when should we be wary of them? Answering that question is the second task of Blink.

The third and most important task of this book is to convince you that our snap judgments and first impressions can be educated and controlled.

Gottman has proven something remarkable. If he analyzes an hour of a husband and wife talking, he can predict with 95 percent accuracy whether that couple will still be married fifteen years later. If he watches a couple for fifteen minutes, his success rate is around 90 percent.

If you are a white person who would like to treat black people as equals in every way—who would like to have a set of associations with blacks that are as positive as those that you have with whites—it requires more than a simple commitment to equality. It requires that you change your life so that you are exposed to minorities on a regular basis and become comfortable with them and familiar with the best of their culture, so that when you want to meet, hire, date, or talk with a member of a minority, you aren’t betrayed by your hesitation and discomfort.

extra information is more than useless. It’s harmful. It confuses the issues

truly successful decision making relies on a balance between deliberate and instinctive thinking

in good decision making, frugality matters

An officer with a partner is no safer than an officer on his own. Just as important, two-officer teams are more likely to have complaints filed against them. With two officers, encounters with citizens are far more likely to end in an arrest or an injury to whomever they are arresting or a charge of assaulting a police officer. Why? Because when police officers are by themselves, they slow things down, and when they are with someone else, they speed things up.

In the past thirty years, since screens became commonplace, the number of women in the top U.S. orchestras has increased fivefold.

understanding the true nature of instinctive decision making requires us to be forgiving of those people trapped in circumstances where good judgment is imperiled

From experience, we gain a powerful gift, the ability to act instinctively, in the moment. But—and this is one of the lessons I tried very hard to impart in Blink—it is easy to disrupt this gift.

We live in a world saturated with information. We have virtually unlimited amounts of data at our fingertips at all times, and we’re well versed in the arguments about the dangers of not knowing enough and not doing our homework. But what I have sensed is an enormous frustration with the unexpected costs of knowing too much, of being inundated with information. We have come to confuse information with understanding. [...]
The key to good decision making is not knowledge. It is understanding. We are swimming in the former. We are desperately lacking in the latter.

On straightforward choices, deliberate analysis is best. When questions of analysis and personal choice start to get complicated—when we have to juggle many different variables—then our unconscious thought processes may be superior.

This is the real lesson of Blink: It is not enough simply to explore the hidden recesses of our unconscious. Once we know about how the mind works—and about the strengths and weaknesses of human judgment—it is our responsibility to act.

31 August 2011

Sarah, Plain and Tall (Patricia MacLachlan)

Beautiful, flowing poetic writing. A short book that can be read in a couple of sittings, but which has a haunting quality that stays with the reader.


Quotes:

"One Thing," I said in the quiet of the room.
"What's that?" asked Papa, looking up.
I put my arm around Caleb.
"Ask her if she sings," I said.

28 August 2011

The Coming of Bill (P. G. Wodehouse)

Also called "The Great White Hope" and set in New York, this is a satirical novel, but not a "ha!ha!" comical one.

Finished reading this on Ana's 12th birthday. Happy birthday Ana!


Quotes:

John Bannister smiled. He had a wintry smile, a sort of muscular affection of the mouth, to which his eyes contributed nothing.

It was a significant sign of his changed attitude towards his profession that he was not drawing Steve as a figure in an allegorical picture or as "Apollo" or "The Toiler," but simply as a well-developed young man who had had the good sense to support his nether garments with Middleton's Undeniable Suspenders.

It has been well said that it is better for a third party to quarrel with a buzz-saw than to interfere between husband and wife

He realized with the abruptness which comes to a man who stands alone with nature in the small hours that he was very sleepy.

21 August 2011

Healing the Heart of Democracy: The Courage to Create a Politics Worthy of the Human Spirit (Parker J. Palmer)

A love song for American democracy and an impassioned plea for its preservation.


Quotes:

Much has been said about the “voice of depression.” It is a voice that speaks despairingly about the whole of one's life no matter how good parts of it may be—a voice so loud and insistent that when it speaks, it is the only sound one can hear. I know that voice well. I have spent long days and nights listening to its deadly urgings.

Perhaps we share an abiding grief over some of modernity's worst features: its mindless relativism, corrosive cynicism, disdain for tradition and human dignity, indifference to suffering and death.

I, too, have a nonnegotiable conviction: violence can never be the answer.

American democracy was intended to generate, not suppress, the energy created by conflict, converting it into social progress as a hydroelectric plant converts the energy of dammed-up water into usable power. But our democratic institutions are not automated. They must be inhabited by citizens and citizen leaders who know how to hold conflict inwardly in a manner that converts it into creativity, allowing it to pull them open to new ideas, new courses of action, and each other. That kind of tension-holding is the work of the well-tempered heart: if democracy is to thrive as that restored prairie is thriving, our hearts and our institutions must work in concert.

I believe in democracy as long as we understand that it is not something we have but something we must do.

If I were asked for two words to summarize the habits of the heart American citizens need in response to twenty-first-century conditions, chutzpah and humility are the words I would choose.

But a heart that has been consistently exercised through conscious engagement with suffering is more likely to break open instead of apart.

In a healthy democracy, public conflict is not only inevitable but prized.

And yet this is one of the most crucial lessons of the twentieth century, one that we forget at our peril: tension is a sign of life, and the end of tension is a sign of death.

The civilizing impact of science, for example, does not come primarily from its most widely heralded discoveries. It comes from insisting that we embrace contradictory observations and explanations, using the experimental method to let their tensions advance our knowledge. Good scientists do not fear divergent views but welcome them for whatever new truth they may reveal. They also know that every new truth is likely to be followed, sooner or later, by yet another contradiction and that only by holding such tensions over time can we advance our knowledge.

Unlike the political and the private, which are realms of relative order, the public is an arena of unpredictable and uncontrollable disorder.

we are so obsessed with our private lives that we are largely oblivious to our public diminishments.

Try to love the questions themselves…. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given because you would not be able to live them—and the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. (Rilke)

My core religious beliefs include this simple article of faith: the God who gave all of us life wants us to do the same for each other.

When people or groups who claim religious motivation make their points by using violence in any form—spiritual, psychological, verbal, or physical—it seems clear to me that they are driven by fear rather than faith, committed to control instead of trust in God.

Anne Lamott says, “You can safely assume you've created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.”

White American pioneers—who found themselves in a land with abundant food, water, and building materials almost everywhere they went—prided themselves on being self-sufficient, a virtue Americans have claimed as a national trait ever since. But Christianity and Judaism, America's dominant religious traditions, all began in the harsh deserts of the Middle East, as did Islam. Nomads in that trackless, treeless terrain must often depend on others for shelter and sustenance.

the Internet has become a public space—perhaps the public space—where people meet to share news and discuss issues as they once did at the crossroads or on the plaza

When we openly acknowledge this gap between aspiration and reality and are willing to live in it honestly, a myth can encourage us to bring what we are a bit closer to what we seek to be. When we confuse the aspiration with the reality of our lives, we can get ourselves into very deep trouble as individuals and as a nation.

All we Americans need to do is chant “one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all,” and we get a booster shot of national and delusional self-righteousness.

A movement's success is signaled by a slow accretion of small changes in the system of institutional rewards and punishments by which all societies exercise social control.

These four stages—deciding to live “divided no more,” forming communities of congruence, going public with a vision, and transforming the system of punishment and reward—are found in every social movement I have studied.

The organic renewal generated by a movement eventually withers and dies, setting the stage for yet another movement. The movement called American democracy is no exception.

For the last six of those years, I have worked on this book, making a case for a nonviolent politics in which creative conflict is possible.

we cannot settle for mere “effectiveness” as the ultimate measure of our failure or success

Nothing that is worth doing can be achieved in our lifetime; therefore, we must be saved by hope. Nothing which is true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore, we must be saved by faith. Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore we are saved by love. Reinhold Niebuhr

Finally (and here is a sentence I never imagined writing), I thank my conversation partners on Facebook. (you're welcome!)

20 August 2011

For the Love of a Dog: Understanding Emotion in You and Your Best Friend (Patricia B. McConnell)


A study of doggie emotions, a love song for dogs, and a tribute to Cool Hand Luke, the best dog ever!

Quotes:
We’ve long known that you can stimulate different areas of the brain with a mild electrical current to evoke feelings of fear, sadness, or amusement. What’s most remarkable about those cases is that the research subject, wide awake and in no pain, always comes up with an intellectual explanation for his or her feelings after the emotion is elicited.
There’s a long list of surprising ways you can influence your emotions by changing what you’re doing with your body.
Before the invention of things like caramel corn and Krispy Kremes, what made us feel good was good for us.
dogs aren’t disgusted by poop. They love the stuff. Eating feces, whether that of another dog or a pile deposited by sheep or horses, seems to be a highlight in the life of many a dog. [...] Dogs aren’t people, and if they have their own image of heaven, it most likely involves poop.
Accurate, objective observation is a skill that requires practice, but it starts with asking your mind to focus on what you see, not on what you think it means.[...] A very small amount of time and energy spent in reminding your brain to make accurate, objective descriptions of your dog can radically improve the relationship between you and your dog.
One of the most important things to notice about a dog’s face is whether her mouth is open or closed. Relaxed, happy dogs tend to have relaxed and often slightly open mouths.
A stiff body and a closed mouth are signs of a dog on high alert, whose next move may be to lunge forward. [...] Dogs frequently use “freeze” as a signal to other dogs. If you see two dogs greeting each other who are both stiff and still for more than a second or two, you’d better do something to break the tension. Things might get dramatic if you don’t.
Mounting in play isn’t about sex, it’s about social status
Groomers and trainers know to go on alert when a dog abruptly whips her head around toward their hand and freezes her body for a microsecond. I take it as a threat, a clear warning not to repeat what I just did. If a dog does this with a closed jaw, she is most likely communicating to you that she is objecting to what you are doing.
The usual approach of all people, when greeting human or dog, is basically the opposite of a polite approach in dog society. Dogs approach one another from the side, curving their line of approach and avoiding eye contact, while keeping their bodies loose and fluid. We do the opposite: we keep our bodies upright and relatively still, and make direct eye contact while reaching out with our paws before we’ve even so much as exchanged scents.
Tail wagging is most commonly interpreted as a signal of friendliness, but that can be a big mistake. What is friendly is a loose, relaxed tail that wags the hindquarters along with it.
a dog with wrinkles around her eyes is a dog who’s glad to see you
dogs spend a lot of energy avoiding direct eye contact with one another unless they are good buddies
Eugene Morton, who suggested that the vocalizations of all mammals follow certain general principles. Sounds related to offense tend to be low in pitch and “noisy,” like a low, growly bark, while sounds related to fear or appeasement tend to be higher pitched and more pure in tone, like the yelp of a frightened puppy. Excitement also tends to raise pitch
the only thing two trainers will agree on is that the third trainer doesn’t know what she’s talking about
if dogs grow up with little environmental stimulation they can turn into adults who are lacking in the ability to handle even minor stress. Stress is just change, after all
because each of us has a different cortex, each of us lives in a slightly different world.
Animals who don’t feel fear aren’t going to live long enough to reproduce: it’s as simple as that.
Temple Grandin says, “Fear is so bad for animals, I think it’s worse than pain.”
Researchers have found that people who express no preference for using one hand or the other have higher than expected levels of generalized anxiety disorders. [...] You may be interested to know that out of forty-eight dogs, twenty-one were “lefties,” sixteen used their right paws most often, and eleven were “ambilateral,” showing no preference. That is, of course, very different from humans, of whom about 10 percent are left-handed or ambidextrous and 90 percent are right-handed.
shyness is a “conservative” trait, so it’s going to hang around in the gene pool, even if only somewhere in the background
Actually, that pretty well sums up all of dog training. If people stopped yelling “No!” at their dogs, and instead taught them what they want them to do, rather than not do, the world would be a better place.
I should state for the record here that I have never bitten a dentist—a fact of which, given my level of terror when someone jams a huge needle into my mouth, I am very proud.
every good treatment plan begins with a management plan to ensure the safety of your dog and your friends, and, as important, to prevent your dog from being conditioned in the wrong direction.
This is also why it can be dangerous to use a strong physical correction on some dogs: engaging in battle with a dog who is already pumped up for a fight can make things worse. [...] This is a situation you want to avoid: fights don’t always have winners, and too often the result is that both of you end up losing.
The simplest and most effective way to help a dog learn emotional control is to teach her to “stay” on cue.
Don’t fool yourself: if you yell at your dog for something he did twenty seconds ago, you’re not training him; you’re merely expressing your own anger.
Don’t try to solve the problem during the crisis; find a way to finesse yourself out of it.
don’t decrease your dog’s frequency of reinforcement until you’re willing to bet ten dollars that your dog will do what you ask
Greyhounds, for example, are the original couch potato dog, just as happy to stay inside when it’s raining as you are.
Your dog is much more likely to come if you turn your body sideways and move backward a bit while you call “Come!”
Keep this in mind with your own dog. She is who she is, and the key to her happiness is knowing what parts of her you can change through training and conditioning (which, don’t get me wrong, is a lot), and what parts of her need to be accepted and celebrated.
Like us, dogs enjoy petting during quiet times, when the pack is settled in, cozied up in the living room or bedroom, the outside world shut away for awhile. They enjoy petting least when they’re in high-arousal play mode. [...] In general, dogs enjoy touch most on the sides of their heads, under their ears and chins, on their chests and bellies, and at the base of their tails. [...]I wish we’d talk more about “rubbing, stroking, or massaging” dogs instead of “petting” them, “petting” being a word close enough to “patting” to cause no end of trouble. Pats, especially rapidly repeated ones on top of the head, tend to put dogs off.
it’s time to stop apologizing for the belief that animals, like our dogs, have emotions. Of course, our dogs can experience emotions like fear, anger, happiness, and jealousy
In some ways, it’s really that simple, isn’t it? At their best, that is what dogs do: they make us happy. At our best, we make them happy, too. That can only be true because we share so very much with them, and the foundation of what we share is our emotions. Dogs are emotions—living breathing embodiments of fear and anger and joy, emotions we can read on their faces as clearly as any language.

04 August 2011

Programming Scala (Venkat Subramaniam)

Another good introduction to Scala.


Quotes:

Scala's type inference is low ceremony and has no learning curve; you simply have to undo some Java practices.

30 July 2011

The Code of the Woosters (P. G. Wodehouse)

A perfectly crazy story, perhaps the best of the "Jeeves" books.


Quotes:

‘We are as little children, frightened of the dark, and Jeeves is the wise nurse who takes us by the hand and—’ ‘Switches the light on?’ ‘Precisely.

Roderick Spode is the founder and head of the Saviours of Britain, a Fascist organization better known as the Black Shorts.

We do not, he said, fear those whom we despise. The thing to do, therefore, is to cultivate a lofty contempt for those who will be listening to one.’

But mere thews and sinews do not qualify a man to pinch policemen’s helmets. You need finesse. [...] But at least impress upon him that it is essential, when pinching policemen’s helmets, to give a forward shove before applying the upwards lift. Otherwise, the subject’s chin catches in the strap.

‘You mean he scatters these data—these extraordinarily dangerous data—these data that might spell ruin if they fell into the wrong hands—broadcast to whoever asks for them?’ ‘Only to members, sir.’

Didn’t you tell me once that the Code of the Woosters was “Never let a pal down”?’

‘You can’t be a successful Dictator and design women’s underclothing.’ ‘No, sir.’ ‘One or the other. Not both.’ ‘Precisely, sir.’

18 July 2011

Hamlet (William Shakespeare)

I wanted to re-read Hamlet after i listened to an episode of This American Life where they chronicle staging the play with a group of high-security prison inmates. Amazing stuff. The play was everything i remembered too and more. The play is the thing.


Quotes:

To be, or not to be,--that is the question

your chaste treasure open To his unmaster'd importunity

Neither a borrower nor a lender be

This above all,--to thine own self be true

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

Murder most foul

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten (Hamlet)

Though this be madness, yet there is a method in't. (Polonius)

To be, or not to be,--that is the question:-- Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?--To die,--to sleep,-- No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to,--'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die,--to sleep;-- To sleep! perchance to dream:--ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? who would these fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death,-- The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn No traveller returns,--puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; And enterprises of great pith and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action.

Get thee to a nunnery: why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners?

The lady protests too much, methinks.

'Tis as easy as lying: govern these ventages with your finger and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music. (Hamlet teaching how to play the recorder)

Hoist with his own petard

Break not your sleeps for that:--you must not think That we are made of stuff so flat and dull That we can let our beard be shook with danger, And think it pastime. (Claudius)

Alas, poor Yorick!--I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy

Let Hercules himself do what he may, The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.

there's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all

Hamlet, thou art slain; No medicine in the world can do thee good; In thee there is not half an hour of life

the play's the thing Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king

15 July 2011

Matilda (Roald Dahl)

I'm finally reading the Roald Dahl books with my daughter Laura. We started with Matilda because Laura reminds me of Matilda and my wife Henrieta reminds me of Miss Honey. I can only hope i'm a better parent than Mr Wormwood.

No matter how old you are, Roald Dahl is essential. We're going to read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory next.


Quotes:

I'm right and you're wrong, I'm big and you're small, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Never do anything by halves if you want to get away with it. Be outrageous. Go the whole hog. Make sure everything you do is so completely crazy it's unbelievable... (Matilda)

"I'm wondering what to read next." Matilda said. "I've finished all the children's books."

12 July 2011

Let The Great World Spin (Colum McCann)

Wonderful book. The beautiful language reminds me of Frank McCourt. The intricate stories of at least a dozen interesting people, each one told in their own voice, compose a New York symphony.


Quotes:

CORRIGAN TOLD ME once that Christ was quite easy to understand. He went where He was supposed to go. He stayed where He was needed. He took little or nothing along, a pair of sandals, a bit of a shirt, a few odds and ends to stave off the loneliness. He never rejected the world. If He had rejected it, He would have been rejecting mystery. And if He rejected mystery, He would have been rejecting faith.

What Corrigan wanted was a fully believable God, one you could find in the grime of the everyday. The comfort he got from the hard, cold truth—the filth, the war, the poverty—was that life could be capable of small beauties. He wasn’t interested in the glorious tales of the afterlife or the notions of a honey-soaked heaven. To him that was a dressing room for hell. Rather he consoled himself with the fact that, in the real world, when he looked closely into the darkness he might find the presence of a light, damaged and bruised, but a little light all the same. He wanted, quite simply, for the world to be a better place, and he was in the habit of hoping for it. Out of that came some sort of triumph that went beyond theological proof, a cause for optimism against all the evidence.

Even the worst of what men did to one another didn’t dampen Corrigan’s beliefs. He might have been naïve, but he didn’t care; he said he’d rather die with his heart on his sleeve than end up another cynic.

There are moments we return to, now and always. Family is like water—it has a memory of what it once filled, always trying to get back to the original stream.

The only thing worth grieving over, she said, was that sometimes there was more beauty in this life than the world could bear.