Dear Editor,
Re: "Start Of Dove Season". Um...pardon? Please...someone tell me that this just a deliciously tongue-in-cheek piece of literary irony from an author wishing to flex his or her satirical muscles. Please. The article is filled with perfect examples of oxymora such as "dove hunts offer an abundance of action and lots of shooting in a family-friendly atmosphere". That may well be (and I am most thankful for it) the first time that I have seen the words "shooting" and "family-friendly" contained in one sentence.
The article states that the hunters "anticipate sharing this tradition with their children and grandchildren". Does anyone else reel at the paradoxical image of Grandpa whispering in his grandson's ear "Blow 'em out of the sky, Junior! That there dove may be an ancestor of the one that they told you about in church when they read the part about Noah's Ark"?
The bloody destruction of the ancient and universal symbol of peace is spoken of as if it's as benign as a Father/Son golf tournament. The daily bag limit is twelve birds. Twelve chances to kill a creature known for its monogamous tendencies, lovely appearance and superb parenting. Mourning Doves, indeed.
How appalling it is to realize that mankind has barely evolved since the days of yore when a good time was had by all at the Roman Coliseum. Apparently we still find amusement in death. There's more: "Many Georgians choose to tailgate and barbeque all afternoon, enjoying the time outdoors with friends and family" at these slaughter-fests.
How heart-warming. We decry the increasing level of global and local violence while bemoaning the casual approach that our youth takes to weaponry and the loss of life - and then we continue to find "family fun" in pursuits such as this.
I am aware that, due to the voracious hunger of the human species for expansion and growth, many creatures proliferate without sufficient habitat and that we now face the sad task of lessening their numbers. (We choose to use the euphemisms "harvesting" and "conservation effort"). What I cannot understand is the pleasure that some seem to find in killing - and passing the joy of it along to the following generation.
Yep...this "fun-filled" dove hunting season sounds like quite a lark (are they on the hit-list too?).
Monday, February 23, 2009
Idiots and God
There are many things in life (innumerable actually) that puzzle and confound me. Generally speaking, these are human-produced phenomena that leave me shaking my head in bemusement. A particularly fine example recently presented itself to me.
I had paused outside of one of our churches and was enjoying the spectacle of the devout emerging after service. One family captured my attention: a mother, father and three lovely young girls. They were laughing and appeared to be thoroughly delighting in one another's company.
I encountered them again later as they were sharing a lunch in the City Park and yet again, for we happened to leave at the same time and follow the same route - they in the lead and me following in my golf cart.
I, being somewhat of a romantic, was musing that such families were the foundation and strength of a community. Imagine the abrupt cessation of my pleasant reverie when, from the front driver's side window of their car, flew a bag. Styrofoam cups, soiled paper bags, serviettes and other detritus rained down upon the pavement before me as the occupants of the car continued, blithely, on their way.
The events of the morning shattered into a strange juxtaposition. This family had, with countless others, spent time in God's house: presumably worshipping, giving thanks and reflecting upon His gifts to His children. They then chose to avail themselves of His hospitality in His backyard (as it were) and to repay Him by defiling His gardens.
Though no theologian, I am aware of the basic tenets of Christianity. (Revelation 7:3 "Saying, hurt not the earth, neither the sea, nor the trees.") We abuse the Earth because we regard it as a commodity belonging to us. I would suggest that we are merely invited guests.
I was recently asked to write an article that would serve as a "love song" to the environmental beauty of St. Marys, Georgia. How it saddens me that, though the images and words flowed, my mind continually stumbled over the vision of the mindlessly discarded refuse of the Selfish and Ignorant that contaminates our town.
I expect that others grow as weary of writing and reading about the desecration of our natural world as I do - but I am afraid to stop for silence is a form of either defeat, compliance or callousness. And what of those three young girls that day (and, one presumes, every day) as they witness disgusting eco-vandalism perpetrated by a parent? How do they reconcile the recycling program in their school, Earth Day and other local and global environmental activities with the actions of those of whom they should be most admiring?
My hope is that those parents will read this letter in the local paper, and will apologize to their children, for we can no longer hide behind "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do". We do know.
I had paused outside of one of our churches and was enjoying the spectacle of the devout emerging after service. One family captured my attention: a mother, father and three lovely young girls. They were laughing and appeared to be thoroughly delighting in one another's company.
I encountered them again later as they were sharing a lunch in the City Park and yet again, for we happened to leave at the same time and follow the same route - they in the lead and me following in my golf cart.
I, being somewhat of a romantic, was musing that such families were the foundation and strength of a community. Imagine the abrupt cessation of my pleasant reverie when, from the front driver's side window of their car, flew a bag. Styrofoam cups, soiled paper bags, serviettes and other detritus rained down upon the pavement before me as the occupants of the car continued, blithely, on their way.
The events of the morning shattered into a strange juxtaposition. This family had, with countless others, spent time in God's house: presumably worshipping, giving thanks and reflecting upon His gifts to His children. They then chose to avail themselves of His hospitality in His backyard (as it were) and to repay Him by defiling His gardens.
Though no theologian, I am aware of the basic tenets of Christianity. (Revelation 7:3 "Saying, hurt not the earth, neither the sea, nor the trees.") We abuse the Earth because we regard it as a commodity belonging to us. I would suggest that we are merely invited guests.
I was recently asked to write an article that would serve as a "love song" to the environmental beauty of St. Marys, Georgia. How it saddens me that, though the images and words flowed, my mind continually stumbled over the vision of the mindlessly discarded refuse of the Selfish and Ignorant that contaminates our town.
I expect that others grow as weary of writing and reading about the desecration of our natural world as I do - but I am afraid to stop for silence is a form of either defeat, compliance or callousness. And what of those three young girls that day (and, one presumes, every day) as they witness disgusting eco-vandalism perpetrated by a parent? How do they reconcile the recycling program in their school, Earth Day and other local and global environmental activities with the actions of those of whom they should be most admiring?
My hope is that those parents will read this letter in the local paper, and will apologize to their children, for we can no longer hide behind "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do". We do know.
Words, glorious words...
“It is with books as with men; a very small number play a great part” – Voltaire
“To lose a parent, Mr. Worthing, may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.” – Oscar Wilde
“If only we’d stop trying to be happy, we’d have a pretty good time.” – Edith Wharton
“Tell him I’ve been too fucking busy - or vise versa.” – Dorothy Parker (when asked by her editor’s secretary as to when he might receive her manuscript.)
“Dying is an art, like everything else.” – Sylvia Plath (who did not die particularly artistically)
“She had a quirkish temper for she suffered from chronic perplexity.” – E. B. White
“Language is a cracked kettle on which we beat out tunes for bears to dance to, while all the time we long to move the stars to pity." – Flaubert
"And were an epitaph to be my story I'd have a short one ready for my own. I would have written of me on my stone: I had a lover's quarrel with the world." - Robert Frost
“Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald
“Birth was the death of him.” – Samuel Beckett
“To lose a parent, Mr. Worthing, may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.” – Oscar Wilde
“If only we’d stop trying to be happy, we’d have a pretty good time.” – Edith Wharton
“Tell him I’ve been too fucking busy - or vise versa.” – Dorothy Parker (when asked by her editor’s secretary as to when he might receive her manuscript.)
“Dying is an art, like everything else.” – Sylvia Plath (who did not die particularly artistically)
“She had a quirkish temper for she suffered from chronic perplexity.” – E. B. White
“Language is a cracked kettle on which we beat out tunes for bears to dance to, while all the time we long to move the stars to pity." – Flaubert
"And were an epitaph to be my story I'd have a short one ready for my own. I would have written of me on my stone: I had a lover's quarrel with the world." - Robert Frost
“Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald
“Birth was the death of him.” – Samuel Beckett
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Well said!
"As far as I'm concerned, group stupidity is not a spectator sport and it makes me itch when imbeciles organize to the point where they take themselves seriously." Ferrol Sams
Monday, February 16, 2009
Mea Culpa
I’d thought to post a list of what I considered the greatest books ever written. Having amassed this list and posted it on this blog, it occurred to me that that was an appallingly smug and pedantic thing to do. Thus, it was deleted.
Who, in their right mind would care about my literary preferences? The only people who post such lists are those who seek only to have others ooh and ahh over their (supposed) mental prowess. Think about it: when was the last time that you read such a list and found it to include such luminaries as Danielle Steele, or Jane Heller? That would be tantamount to someone boasting that his or her favourite movie of all time was Wayne’s World, that his or her most beloved television show was Let’s Make a Deal and that the award for the greatest literary character goes to Austin Powers.
And thus I have revealed my inherent snobbery. Suffice to say that I do not think that any child should be allowed to graduate high school without having met the following criteria:
Viewed (at least) Schindler’s List and To Kill a Mockingbird.
Listened to Puccini, Mozart, Chopin, Beethoven et al
Possess a working knowledge of Shakespeare, Harper, Capote, Greene, Rand, Bellow Updike, Mailer, Roth, Plato, Yeats…(right – I’m doing it again).
We may be producing creatures that can chat on-line while simultaneously texting, surfing, talking on cells and planning the next “kegger” but they are, increasingly, beings of little depth or substance with no tolerance for mental exercise or exploration.
If I am to live in a world where “multi-tasking” is valued above all, let it, at least, be a world of some knowledge beyond "who's hot/who's not" or what is the latest "must have" techno-gadget. Please.
Who, in their right mind would care about my literary preferences? The only people who post such lists are those who seek only to have others ooh and ahh over their (supposed) mental prowess. Think about it: when was the last time that you read such a list and found it to include such luminaries as Danielle Steele, or Jane Heller? That would be tantamount to someone boasting that his or her favourite movie of all time was Wayne’s World, that his or her most beloved television show was Let’s Make a Deal and that the award for the greatest literary character goes to Austin Powers.
And thus I have revealed my inherent snobbery. Suffice to say that I do not think that any child should be allowed to graduate high school without having met the following criteria:
Viewed (at least) Schindler’s List and To Kill a Mockingbird.
Listened to Puccini, Mozart, Chopin, Beethoven et al
Possess a working knowledge of Shakespeare, Harper, Capote, Greene, Rand, Bellow Updike, Mailer, Roth, Plato, Yeats…(right – I’m doing it again).
We may be producing creatures that can chat on-line while simultaneously texting, surfing, talking on cells and planning the next “kegger” but they are, increasingly, beings of little depth or substance with no tolerance for mental exercise or exploration.
If I am to live in a world where “multi-tasking” is valued above all, let it, at least, be a world of some knowledge beyond "who's hot/who's not" or what is the latest "must have" techno-gadget. Please.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Cell Phones and Popcorn
(By the way, the videos that I refer to in the post below are part of a viral marketing campaign by Cardo Systems, makers of Bluetooth headsets. Surely, you didn't fall for that, did you?)
Brains like Popcorn
There's a video that's winging its way from inbox to inbox - and it irritates the hell out of me. It presents vignettes that unfold as follows: several giggling and gormless youths sit hunched around a table. Upon the table are a few un-popped kernels of corn surrounded by three of four cell phones that are aimed toward the unsuspecting nuggets. The youths gleefully activate the cells and then watch - stunned, shrieking, falling about in shock and awe - as the kernels explode into white and fluffy pieces of popcorn.
And I wonder - will this be the new craze in murder/suicide: assassination by cell? I can imagine, too, the uproarious parties of teens as they all gang-cell one another for the cerebral "buzz" (if the insane wee buggers will hang themselves while masturbating and drink Windex, there's no telling what they'll do).
Damn...I suspect that yet another insufferably stupid fad is drawing nigh. Could it be that this is a pernicious form of subtle terrorism: a long-range global plot wherein imbecilic ideas are fed into the Great American maw to then proliferate like a brain-devouring plague. Could this be the genesis of such heinous things as disco, pet rocks, sit-coms, rap, Richards Simmons and fast-food? Bwahahahha...world dominance through (excessively compliant) cultural rot - brilliant, eh what?
I have not attempted to recreate this feat with corn but I did try activating three cell phones that were aimed at an annoying Pekinese. The result was impressively gratifying, I must say
And I wonder - will this be the new craze in murder/suicide: assassination by cell? I can imagine, too, the uproarious parties of teens as they all gang-cell one another for the cerebral "buzz" (if the insane wee buggers will hang themselves while masturbating and drink Windex, there's no telling what they'll do).
Damn...I suspect that yet another insufferably stupid fad is drawing nigh. Could it be that this is a pernicious form of subtle terrorism: a long-range global plot wherein imbecilic ideas are fed into the Great American maw to then proliferate like a brain-devouring plague. Could this be the genesis of such heinous things as disco, pet rocks, sit-coms, rap, Richards Simmons and fast-food? Bwahahahha...world dominance through (excessively compliant) cultural rot - brilliant, eh what?
I have not attempted to recreate this feat with corn but I did try activating three cell phones that were aimed at an annoying Pekinese. The result was impressively gratifying, I must say
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Barlett parking lot
It was voted down (unanimously) by City Council. Sigh...another small space saved for now.
William Sidis
Have you ever heard of William Sidis? I have been fascinated by him since I was a child and my father used him as an example of what could be attained - and the import of balance in all things. I have never been sure if the tale of Sidis is an object lesson in the idiocy of mankind or a beneficent caveat regarding "moderation in all things": a "there, but for the grace of God, go I" or "Forgive them, Father, they know not what they do". There is a biblical pathos to Sidis (as you can, no doubt, tell by the quotes that come to mind).
The study of human intellectual potential will always enthrall me. Think on it: a human brain - approximately 3 pounds of pinkish-grey mass - with such vast variations in capabilities. This, to me, is the "Final Frontier" (had to throw a little Roddenberry in there). It, quite literally, takes my breath away. As the concept of infinity reduces and redeems, so does the inner world of the mind.
A bit of background information on William - and forgive me, please, if I've slipped a bit in my recollection of dates here and there.
William James Sidis (1889-1944) was an American "child prodigy". He first became famous (infamous?) for his stunning intellect and later for his (supposed) insanity and reclusive ways. With an estimated IQ of 300, he is considered the most intelligent person in measurable history.
Instead of the more common rote-and-discipline educational tactics, Sidis's parents believed in fostering a hunger for knowledge - for which they were criticized, of course. Sidis could read the New York Times at 18 months and taught himself eight languages (Latin, French, Greek, German, Russian, Turkish, Hebrew and Armenian) by the time that he turned eight years old.
Although Harvard University had previously refused to allow his father to enroll him when he was but nine, Sidis was accepted at age 11, thus becoming the youngest person to enroll at that venerable institute. The experimental group of instructors included such luminaries as Wiener, the sublime Buckminster Fuller and composer Roger Sessions. In early 1910, his mastery of higher mathematics was such that he lectured the Harvard Mathematical Club on 4-dimensional bodies. The "child" earned his Bachelor of Arts degree, (cum laude) at age 16.
Shortly after graduation, he told reporters that he wanted "to live the perfect life", which he defined as "complete seclusion" however he later enrolled at Harvard's Graduate School of Arts and Sciences.
After a gaggle of Harvard students threatened him with bodily harm, his parents found him a job at the William Marsh Rice Institute for the Advancement of Letters, Science, and Art (now Rice University) as a mathematics teaching assistant. He arrived at Rice at age 17, was a Graduate Fellow working towards his doctorate and taught Euclidean geometry, non-Euclidean geometry and trig. Bloody hell... he wrote a textbook for the E.G. course in Greek - at 17!
After less than a year, frustrated with the limited abilities of the department and his treatment by other (older) students, Sidis left. He abandoned his plans to obtain a graduate degree in mathematics and enrolled at the Harvard Law School but withdrew in his final year.
In 1919, shortly after his withdrawal from law school, Sidis was arrested for participating in a socialist parade in Boston that turned into a riot. He was sentenced to 18 months in prison. During the much-publicized trial, Sidis stated that he did not believe in a god (Oh. My. God!) and that he was a socialist (eeek!). His father made a deal with the D.A. and instead of federal incarceration his parents held him in their "sanatorium" in New Hampshire for a year, then took him to California where he spent another year in "treatment". While at the sanatorium, the staff (under direction from his parents) set about "reforming" him and threatened him with transfer to an insane asylum.
After escaping back to New York in 1921, Sidis would only take work running adding machines or other menial tasks and developed an obsession with collecting streetcar transfer slips.
Sidis died in 1944 of a cerebral hemorrhage in Boston at the age of 46. His father had died of the same thing at the age of 56. in his adult years, it was estimated that William James Sidis could speak more than forty languages and learn a new language - fully and comprehensively- in a day.
Just...ohhhhhhhh. I have always been both cursed and blessed with the knowledge that my intellectual capacities are constrained by my own weaknesses. Do we all, do you think, have infinite potential - if we but knew how to tap it? Is the fragile tissue between genius and insanity rent by social censure and ostracism - or is it simply that madness and vision often go hand in hand due to some fundamental flaw in "the machine"?
The study of human intellectual potential will always enthrall me. Think on it: a human brain - approximately 3 pounds of pinkish-grey mass - with such vast variations in capabilities. This, to me, is the "Final Frontier" (had to throw a little Roddenberry in there). It, quite literally, takes my breath away. As the concept of infinity reduces and redeems, so does the inner world of the mind.
A bit of background information on William - and forgive me, please, if I've slipped a bit in my recollection of dates here and there.
William James Sidis (1889-1944) was an American "child prodigy". He first became famous (infamous?) for his stunning intellect and later for his (supposed) insanity and reclusive ways. With an estimated IQ of 300, he is considered the most intelligent person in measurable history.
Instead of the more common rote-and-discipline educational tactics, Sidis's parents believed in fostering a hunger for knowledge - for which they were criticized, of course. Sidis could read the New York Times at 18 months and taught himself eight languages (Latin, French, Greek, German, Russian, Turkish, Hebrew and Armenian) by the time that he turned eight years old.
Although Harvard University had previously refused to allow his father to enroll him when he was but nine, Sidis was accepted at age 11, thus becoming the youngest person to enroll at that venerable institute. The experimental group of instructors included such luminaries as Wiener, the sublime Buckminster Fuller and composer Roger Sessions. In early 1910, his mastery of higher mathematics was such that he lectured the Harvard Mathematical Club on 4-dimensional bodies. The "child" earned his Bachelor of Arts degree, (cum laude) at age 16.
Shortly after graduation, he told reporters that he wanted "to live the perfect life", which he defined as "complete seclusion" however he later enrolled at Harvard's Graduate School of Arts and Sciences.
After a gaggle of Harvard students threatened him with bodily harm, his parents found him a job at the William Marsh Rice Institute for the Advancement of Letters, Science, and Art (now Rice University) as a mathematics teaching assistant. He arrived at Rice at age 17, was a Graduate Fellow working towards his doctorate and taught Euclidean geometry, non-Euclidean geometry and trig. Bloody hell... he wrote a textbook for the E.G. course in Greek - at 17!
After less than a year, frustrated with the limited abilities of the department and his treatment by other (older) students, Sidis left. He abandoned his plans to obtain a graduate degree in mathematics and enrolled at the Harvard Law School but withdrew in his final year.
In 1919, shortly after his withdrawal from law school, Sidis was arrested for participating in a socialist parade in Boston that turned into a riot. He was sentenced to 18 months in prison. During the much-publicized trial, Sidis stated that he did not believe in a god (Oh. My. God!) and that he was a socialist (eeek!). His father made a deal with the D.A. and instead of federal incarceration his parents held him in their "sanatorium" in New Hampshire for a year, then took him to California where he spent another year in "treatment". While at the sanatorium, the staff (under direction from his parents) set about "reforming" him and threatened him with transfer to an insane asylum.
After escaping back to New York in 1921, Sidis would only take work running adding machines or other menial tasks and developed an obsession with collecting streetcar transfer slips.
Sidis died in 1944 of a cerebral hemorrhage in Boston at the age of 46. His father had died of the same thing at the age of 56. in his adult years, it was estimated that William James Sidis could speak more than forty languages and learn a new language - fully and comprehensively- in a day.
Just...ohhhhhhhh. I have always been both cursed and blessed with the knowledge that my intellectual capacities are constrained by my own weaknesses. Do we all, do you think, have infinite potential - if we but knew how to tap it? Is the fragile tissue between genius and insanity rent by social censure and ostracism - or is it simply that madness and vision often go hand in hand due to some fundamental flaw in "the machine"?
Monday, February 2, 2009
Bartlett Street Parking Lot
The Bartlett Street Parking Lot
We must speak not only for future generations but also for those who have gone before us: those who founded our town - and those who we lost mere yesterdays ago.
It is given to the living as a solemn obligation to be mindful stewards of the land within which our ancestors, friends and family rest: to honor those places; to cherish and guard them; to dispense our reverential duty carefully and with vision.
Oak Grove Cemetery is a tribute to our past and serves as the very foundation of our community. It holds the names of the pioneers, the heroes, the forgotten and the beloved who walked this place before, and among, us. More tangible than words upon a page or the memories we cling to, these are the physical mementos of our treasured legacy.
Not only the cemetery proper but the land surrounding it must be held in trust. Oak Grove Cemetery is the heart of St. Marys consciousness, character and history. Silent amid the sounds of life, watching over the eternal marsh - it is a jewel in the fine and fragile chain of time.
“Progress” is too often used as the justification for misguided actions…and “present need” is the great alter upon which true value is sacrificed. There are numerous ways in which to honor this place and the people who occupy it: a serene and verdant space of natural beauty, a contemplative Memory Garden, an extension of the cemetery grounds that will enable citizens to find a final resting place within the bosom of their home town.
Now they speak of blanketing the soft grass with concrete and destroying the trees of the open space that rests beside Oak Grove Cemetery. A parking lot. It is sacrilegious to create something as prosaic and unsightly as this in such a sensitive and cherished location. To carry forth with this travesty of misguided action is to break faith with those who went before us and to allow our hearts and hands to be guided by expediency and commerce alone.
Alex Kearns
We must speak not only for future generations but also for those who have gone before us: those who founded our town - and those who we lost mere yesterdays ago.
It is given to the living as a solemn obligation to be mindful stewards of the land within which our ancestors, friends and family rest: to honor those places; to cherish and guard them; to dispense our reverential duty carefully and with vision.
Oak Grove Cemetery is a tribute to our past and serves as the very foundation of our community. It holds the names of the pioneers, the heroes, the forgotten and the beloved who walked this place before, and among, us. More tangible than words upon a page or the memories we cling to, these are the physical mementos of our treasured legacy.
Not only the cemetery proper but the land surrounding it must be held in trust. Oak Grove Cemetery is the heart of St. Marys consciousness, character and history. Silent amid the sounds of life, watching over the eternal marsh - it is a jewel in the fine and fragile chain of time.
“Progress” is too often used as the justification for misguided actions…and “present need” is the great alter upon which true value is sacrificed. There are numerous ways in which to honor this place and the people who occupy it: a serene and verdant space of natural beauty, a contemplative Memory Garden, an extension of the cemetery grounds that will enable citizens to find a final resting place within the bosom of their home town.
Now they speak of blanketing the soft grass with concrete and destroying the trees of the open space that rests beside Oak Grove Cemetery. A parking lot. It is sacrilegious to create something as prosaic and unsightly as this in such a sensitive and cherished location. To carry forth with this travesty of misguided action is to break faith with those who went before us and to allow our hearts and hands to be guided by expediency and commerce alone.
Alex Kearns
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