The Cuban Heritage Trail

Years ago, I went on the Irish Pub tour of Europe. Did you know there is an Irish Pub in Heidelburg or another pres de la Madaleine (at least that's what I told the Iranian cab driver in Paris in my just good enough French-that is just good enough for the Iranian cab driver to find it)? Well, this little jaunt started out as a trip to St. Augustine. Please note the landmark at left, complete with pigeon.

Anyway, we stumble upon not one, not two, but three Cuban cigar shops, not where they sell Cuban cigars because that would be illegal and immoral, although they are Cuban cigars because the shop where we end up buying has a young Cuban man rolling them before your very eyes. Behind the counter is a black and white picture of a young boy rolling cigars in Cuba. It is according to the caption the young man's father at age twelve. I found the leaf a little harsh, but I'm no connoisseur. It did, however, smell marvelous. This I know because the hubster, not Cuban, went native on me.

Nothing would do but that we eat at the Cuban cafe we also found in St. Augustine. I suspect that the abundance of food for a reasonable price might have played a large part in his sudden affinity for my heritage. The food was quite good, although as I pointed out to the South American waiter that my rather tasty Cuban sandwich would have been greatly improved by the addition of at least one slice of pork, as that is one of the defining ingredients in the above named sandwich.

So now we're driving down the A1A. He's puffing on the stogie. We're both admiring forgotten Florida (more on that later). We continue the Cuban Heritage trail with a side trip to the Museum of Arts and Sciences in Daytona which has an absolutely fabulous exhibit of the Ramos Collection, entitled "Great Masters of Cuban Art: 1800 to 1958." If you have the opportunity to see it, do it. I don't know that much about art, but I am something of a museum maven. Take my word for it. It is open until September 1, having been extended.

Mind-boggling. Hubby asks of one painting, "If you didn't know, how could you tell it was Cuban? It looks like the stuff from Europe." Bingo. The exhibit gives the lie to that fallacy that we were third world natives. Not to mention, there is a moment of immense satisfaction that this is a portion of our heritage the s.o.b.s will not be able to steal or erase, as they have erased all the accomplishments BC in the Western mind. I am so moved by the whole experience, I purchase the book for $24.95.

So as we leave the museum, I'm just about Cubaned out. I'm thinking we'll stop somewhere I can get some turkey or roast beef, when we pull into this strip mall in Cocoa Beach where there just happens to be a Cuban cafe called "La Tinaja" with a roguish young Venezuelan waiter named Josue. After a tasty and affordable meal of masitas de puerco frita with arroz and frijoles negros and platanos maduros, I say "enough."

By the way, did you know that Siesta Key in Sarasota started out as a Cuban fishing camp? Scout's honor.

Sunday Soils

*I'll be away and probably incommunicado for a few days, so here's a Sunday early edition. There was just too much good stuff to miss it.

Reaping the Whirlwind. Don't miss the cover story in the Weekly Standard. David Zucker, director of Naked Gun and Airplane, takes on the left in his new project. A contemporary political interpretation of A Christmas Carol, the shambling, overweight filmmaker, the Scrooge equivalent, might seem rather familiar. Read it before it disappears and enjoy.

Harvest of Shame. Here's another in the what-have-we-wrought vein of social criticism. Sowell's piece is most notable for two absolutely marvelous thoughts: does anyone remember Mickey Mantle's haircut and doesn't anyone name their kid "Mary" anymore?

An Inconvenient Truth. Alice Thomson informs us that being "green" is no longer cool. Seems economics has led to green fatigue. Best line of all. A Whole Foods in London is so quite "you can hear the cheese breathe." Article here.

On Rocky Ground. NASA scientists have discovered that Martian soil is perhaps not conducive to life. Of course, it could just be contamination. I love science. Read a brief report here.

Sting Like a Bee. A beekeeper removed 3 million bees from a home in Miami. The offending critters had stung a few people, not surprising if there were three million of them. Apparently they were Italian bees, known to be a tad more aggressive. Don't ask me. Article here.

Update: Hunger Strike Ended

Perhaps fearing yet another martyr, authorities ended Cuban political prisoner Juan Carlos Herrera Acosta's hunger strike. He was whisked to a hospital where the stitches he had used to sew his mouth shut were also removed. Undaunted, he vows to take it up once again. Ziva has more information at Babalu here.

The Curse of the Godfather II Returns

As if it's not enough that one of the current crop of books is Havana Nocturne: How the Mob Owned Cuba and Lost It to the Revolution, Electronic Arts is bringing out a Godfather II video game which will be "set against the backdrops of New York, Florida, Cuba." Care to guess how Cuba Bc is going to come across?

We all know the harm that the movie did in totally skewing the perception of the American public. Yet another generation will confuse artistic license with reality. About the only bright spot is that the exposure will be limited to those who play. On the other hand, the game will be available for the Xbox 360, PlayStation 3, and PC. Article here.

Just a Spoonful of Sugar and a Soupcon of Propaganda

Stop the presses! Cuba "hopes," Cuba "expects" to cover domestic sugar needs. Yes, folks, the country that was once described as a "sugar bowl" has been importing the sweet substance, perhaps because their production levels have been akin to those of the Great Depression.

But just to demonstrate how completely the organs of the press have been co-opted, according to AP the production levels were down because of a restructuring six years ago, and the glory years are described in the 1980's. Former sugar growing areas were devoted to farming or forests. Yeah, the capos in Havana consciously missed the opportunity to amass more wealth in order to create more forests. Really. No mention of the true heyday of Cuban sugar, pre1959. No mention of the mismanagement of half a century of communist rule. Nope. And don't give me the shibboleth about the Americans. In 1959, fully half of the sugar refineries were owned by Cubans, up from zero.

And in concert with this earth shattering development comes the announcement that Cuba is to scale back on it plans to produce ethanol. Of course by the time the news makes it to Reuters, it's a question of following comrade fidel's lead. Some cynics might be more likely to suggest that they will not produce it, just as they have not met housing quotas, because they can't; even more likely, given the recent raulian austerity speech, because they cannot afford to divert production from the sweet stuff.

Words and a Letter

Respetuosamente, en nombre de nuestra nación y sus derechos, les solicitamos desestimen este nombramiento, no entreguen el sitial de honor a quien debería tener reservado solamente el banquillo de los acusados.

Bad translation:

Respectfully, in the name of our nation and its rights, we ask you to repudiate this appointment. Do not seat in a place of honor he who should have reserved the bench of the accused.

From a letter by independent Cuban lawyers in exile to the United Nations upon naming a regime law professor Chairman of the UN Human Rights Council. More about it here.

Slice of Cuban Life

The Sun Sentinel's Ray Sanchez can often be counted on to provide telling details of life in Cuba. The tale of his fruitless hunt for a band aid sadly reflects the constant and arbitrary nature of shortages. If he, a foreigner with real money, encounters such difficulties, where does that leave average citizens? To wit:

One day you stumble on a product unseen in months - say, mouthwash. The next day, it vanishes for half a year. Cat litter is like that. I learned from Cubans to improvise with beach sand carted from Playas del Este.

Read more here and this unattributed story.

Milestones

Missed some important markers last week. Babalublog passed the 3 million mark in unique visitors. Penultimos Dias marked its second anniversary and El Cafe Cubano its third. Kudos to all for all they do to advance the cause of truth. Links to each are on the sidebar.

Cuba and the Inevitable

Grim though all this is, Mr. Palacios and Ms. Delgado maintain that freedom for Cuba is near because the failure of the system is by now universally recognized, and Cubans are becoming bolder about breaking the rules. Ms. Delgado, a founder of the independent libraries movement, estimates that some two million Cubans have either visited those libraries or borrowed their books. That so many are taking such risks is impressive, and it jibes with other shifts in behavior. The nation's youth has become irreverent toward authority, and others are becoming less reluctant to complain. There is even a movement demanding that the Cuban peso be convertible to dollars.

This quote from Mary Anastasia O'Grady's article in the The Wall Street Journal about Cuban dissident Hector Palacio's decision to return to his native country echoes much of what has been making its way out of the captive island. There is a sense of expectation in the air, a sense that change is inexorable, and not the vain expectations created by the transfer of power. Despite the recent crackdowns, citizens seem more ready to criticize the regime to foreign journalists, although they do ask that their last names be omitted. Then there are the incrementally growing numbers in the photos sent by the opposition. In one city, citizens banged their pots to show their support for the hunger-striking political prisoners. Another 22 dissidents were hauled away for attempting to show theirs.

More of the truth is emerging in the mainstream press. Harpers does a piece on the opposition movement in Cuba. Conde Nast Traveller features an article entitled "Remains of the Revolution." More and more, there is a valedictory feel. In and of itself, this sense of the inevitability of change becomes something of a self-fulfilling prophecy. The jig is up. But do they know it?

Before I start chilling champagne, there is one factor to be considered: The Chinese Model. If the army continues to support the regime, all bets are off. Witness Tianamen Square. Even more discouraging, Raul is and has been the head of the army. Generals are among the prime beneficiaries of the present system. The only hope would be dissension in the ranks. Otherwise, I fear that this will be yet another in a long line of false hopes.

H/T Babalublog

Move Over, Moveon

I was driving somewhere in the Sarasota area when I spotted a billboard that read "Martin Luther King was a Republican." While I personally cannot verify the claim, the NBRA, the National Black Republican Association stands behind it. The head of the group, which is Sarasota-based, was featured in an article at the Sarasota Herald Tribune this week. Not a day later, I received a press release from the same Frances Rice complaining of the way she and the organization had been presented.

Frankly, I thought the article was pretty positive, but the problem seems to lie in some non profit IRS legalistic stuff. You can read her response here.

I really enjoy the truly political stuff, like the speech-in at the House of Representatives, at least when it's on my side. So I thought I might share something of her previous antics:

An issue of the Black Republican magazine sported an image of Ku Klux Klan members burning a cross. Caption: "Every person in this photograph was a Democrat."

Articles accusing Democrats of embracing child molesters and waging war on God.

Handing out pins at a campaign rally, reading "Democratic Party, Poverty Pimps."

Suit and tie Republicans are horrified, fearing a backlash. I don't know how effective it is, but it and Frances Rice bear watching.

Dying for Freedom in Cuba

It is a small action, involving a few prisoners in Castro's gulag. It has not made the international press. But since July 18th, four political prisoners have been staging a protest against the conditions they are forced to endure in the only way they can: a hunger strike. They are by all accounts in critical condition. A heart rending note written by Juan Carlos Herrera Acosta has been smuggled out. Marc Masferrer has translated it on his blog where he has covered the situation extensively. It is in the original Spanish at Miscelaneas. I was particularly struck by his closing. After cataloguing the physical effects of his protest, he concludes:

The world should know, I will take my action to its conclusion.

And so they shall, Juan Carlos, although in my heart, I would beg you not to take it to its conclusion. The new Cuba will have need of men like you. Que Dios te cuide, mi hermano.

One Sarasota Smoker's Vote

Despite living just about up the block from one of the top ten beaches in the US, I can't seem to get there very often. So it is that yesterday was the first time since the Sarasota County Commission banned smoking on all our beaches that I made it out there. Of course, I didn't go to Siesta Key Beach, because the "smoking areas" the county so kindly decreed consist of the parking lot and the pavilion, both of which are so far removed from the water that having a cigarette involves a Gobisque trek across acres and acres of sand, no exagerration, or maybe not much of one.

Instead, I was reduced to circling beach accesses , the ones with four or five perenially filled parking spots, in other areas where the swath of sand is much narrower. I wound up at a beach that may be private, although the houses are across the road, much less used because of the rocks, and concrete debris. To this I have been reduced.

And frankly, I am livid at the powers that be. I am as much a citizen of this benighted county as anyone else. Okay, I can see why I can't smoke in an enclosed room in public. I can tolerate dinner out, because that is a question of an hour or so. Beach going involves hours and hours of being out on the sand. Smoking is an addictive, legal, heavily taxed activity. There are few social smokers. So don't tell me I don't have the right to smoke out in the open air, where if you don't like the smell wafting across an appreciable distance you are perfectly free to move. I often don't like the music that makes its way from other people's blankets, so do we ban music?

Smoking was banned ostensibly because cigarette butts were a major nuisance, that is to say they made up 10 percent of the litter. What about the other 90 percent? To see that the rationale is a sham, one need only look at the "decree," notable in its schoolmarmish orientation. You can read it here. The reasoning behind the ban is on page 3. I can't smoke so others can enjoy the beach, because people go to the beach for "fitness" reasons, and because it sets a bad example for youth. In short, because they don't like it. I suggest we ban drinking on the beach for the same reasons. Further, recently the beach was closed for a few days because of e. coli. Does they intend to ban pooping?

So I am feeling singled out and victimized. Well, I was born a Hispanic and female in the good old days of rampant discrimination. I am a Cuban American in these days when some minority groups are more equal than others. I am a somewhat bohemian citizen of an increasingly conformist and upscale Sarasota. So I am used to being on the outside. I am also, however, a voter. The county commissioners might want to ask themselves whether it is wise to alienate a quarter of their population. I, for one, have already helped vote out of office one of the earliest proponents of the ban. When given the opportunity, I intend to vote against each and every one of those who imposed it. I would vote for Nikita Kruschev in drag if I had to...wait, he would be right at home limiting personal freedom. Oh, anyone else. I have to wonder how many people out there feel the same way.

Remember today it is my smoking, but there is no end to it when the passing of law is the result of preference and prejudice and not principle.

Words of the Day

From the George Will column. Couldn't resist.

Does Obama have the sort of adviser a candidate most needs -- someone sufficiently unenthralled to tell him when he has worked one pedal on the organ too much? If so, Obama should be told: Enough, already, with the we-are-who-we-have-been-waiting-for rhetorical cotton candy that elevates narcissism to a political philosophy.

Sunday Sports

It ain't beanbag. In a withering column George Will points out what I've been at pains to describe: Obama Oratory Overload. The columnist, if not the candidate, is at his rhetorical finest.

Because it's there. In Pakistan a group of 22 climbers who had reached the summit of K2 were hit by an ice avalanche. 9 are feared dead and 2 are missing. The privations, danger, and endurance involved in climbing were highlighted in that awful season on Everest. You can read about the latest incident here and about the deadly season in Into Thin Air.

Where the boys are. First it was the atom, and now it's chromosomes. Apparently XX does not a woman make, possibly. The Chinese have stumbled into this minefield trying to make sure girls are girls, in order to ensure fairness in competition. This is a problem that has arisen in the past, particularly with "female" competitors from the old Soviet Union. Apparently some women are "intersexual" as opposed to "transsexual." The latter is not a problem after a two year waiting period. I remember something about XXY or something of the sort. Anyway, article here.

It's war... ball. If you want to know what's wrong with our society, just glance at Rolling Stone's recommendations in our list this week. The first few are pretty unexceptional but the "Pimp Juice" tag, the "Makeout Movie" rec. aargh!

And a bit of Gatorade... to clean the palate so to speak. I've been searching for a particular section in Thoreau's Walden and stumbled across this. Sounds pretty cool to me. Anyway, if anyone out there knows what chapter encompasses his throwing out his rocks, let me know. I really don't want to reread the whole thing.

Literary Interlude: Kubla Khan (an excerpt)

Something about the previous post reminded me of this part of Coleridge's poem. The entire thing here.

...
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Meanderings: The Safety Pin

I've retreated to the privacy and relative shelter of a railing far removed from other human beings in order to have a cigarette. The warmth of the sun, the cool steel at my back, a potato on the landscape of life, I am enjoying my brief respite. A woman crosses in front of me unaware that I am watching. Her back to me, she has entered my life and set off a chain of associations she will never know.

It's her long shorts or abbreviated pants. I can't decide which. But it's the fringe at the bottoms that evokes memories of shorts cut from Wrangler jeans, their white fringes carefully picked out with a large safety pin. The remembered act of combing out the blue weft or warp reminds me of two girls in my college English classes.

They were from Brooklyn, the equivalent of present day "Staten Island Girls." Back then, those of us growing up in Staten Island were just starting to emerge from the days when we bought our jeans and fringed jackets at Gold Rush on the then Richmond Avenue. And we were fascinated by these young women in their get ups and their eyelashes. These were a wonder to behold, each lash encrusted in an coating of mascara that seemed to defy the laws of physics. Queried one day as to why their lashes weren't gobbed together, they explained that after applying the stuff, they would take a large safety pin and separate each individual lash.

My English professor was fascinated by their shoes, most of which sported three inch heels and open toes or straps. "F___ me shoes," he used to call them. Remember, these were unenlightened times. Funny thing was he never lusted after them, at least not appreciably. No, the pronouncement was delivered with an indulgent, picaresque, and somewhat patronizing smile.

I had thought of him earlier in the day when I came across the magazine his wife had started. I was struck that it had not only survived but become quite successful. Neither he nor she, however, had lived to enjoy it. I remember the first day that I met him on campus. He was my advisor, this professor with his wild hair and extinguished pipe. The only thing I remember from his first lecture was that he was 48 and that when you get to be 48, death becomes a reality. Studying Shakespeare with him was wallowing in the lushness of perception and conception and Cleopatra and God knows what else. The man was inspired.

And all this because of a safety pin.

Query

Why do all the news accounts see McCain as having an embargo problem rather than InBev having a Helms-Burton problem?

Specter of A Cuba Visit

In a "what is he thinking," Senator Arlen Specter has announced that he will visit Cuba and would like to meet with Raul Castro and Hugo Chavez. According to this article, the senator is quoted as saying that he has always believed in "dialogue." Read the first few comments, and you will see the basic fallacy of the whole situation repeated.

In a point that Cuban dissidents have made, a "dialogue" by definition requires two sides. The Cuban government has made clear that the only thing it is interested in is the unilateral lifting of the embargo and the acceptance, if not approval, of their sovereign right to enslave their people. As for the overtures some purport to have seen in regime pronouncements, I fear that they are but olive branches of the mind.

Update: More Troops to Afghanistan?

Thomas Friedman has an op-ed in today's New York Times that voices concern over the effect of sending in more troops. He makes a case that what might be politically expedient in this country could be the wrong solution in that one.

Measuring the Oval Office for Drapes?

Now that he is back home after completing his victory progression through Europe, the candidate Obama has turned his attention to the transition. Yup. Had to share this one. Apparently, it is fairly common for the nominees to do something of the sort. What is unusual is that the Obama camp is talking about it. What seems to be lacking in this well-oiled political machine is a feel for what is seemly. Then again, it could be on purpose. Are these missteps really a way to convey the inevitability of an Obama presidency (Sign of the Cross)? Or better yet, is Barry faking out Mac?

Read about it here and here.

There's Something About Obama and His Speeches

Actually, more like his rhetoric, that is drawing the attention of wordmeisters. When he first burst upon the scene, Obama's speeches- like the waters of the Red Sea- swept all before him on a veritable tsunami of verbiage. As time has progressed, however, more and more commentators have started crying "Wait, we've heard this before." More recently, it seems almost impossible to write about said oratorical exercises without trying to take them apart.

Witness the reaction to the Berlin Speech. In the midst of the many, many, many flattering reports, there are a few that take on the style, as well as the substance. This is the case, surprisingly, with David Brooks in no less a publication than the New York Times:

...he pulled out his “this is our moment” rhetoric and offered visions of a world transformed. Obama speeches almost always have the same narrative arc. Some problem threatens. The odds are against the forces of righteousness. But then people of good faith unite and walls come tumbling down. Obama used the word “walls” 16 times in the Berlin speech, and in 11 of those cases, he was talking about walls coming down.

and

When I first heard this sort of radically optimistic speech in Iowa, I have to confess my American soul was stirred. It seemed like the overture for a new yet quintessentially American campaign.
But now it is more than half a year on, and the post-partisanship of Iowa has given way to the post-nationalism of Berlin, and it turns out that the vague overture is the entire symphony. The golden rhetoric impresses less, the evasion of hard choices strikes one more.

For me, there has always been something nagging about it all, like something wasn't quite right. I've written about the hyperbole and the repetition. It goes beyond that. So when I came across some of his signature lines, I confess I parsed them a bit:

We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.

First, there's the school marm in me that says you don't end a sentence on a preposition. But OK, my membership in the grammar police has lapsed. Still it sounds horribly awkward. That sentence is better the next one. After much thought, I realized what bothered me. "We" stands for people, concrete flesh and blood entities. "Change," on the other hand, is an abstraction. Therefore people cannot be "change." They may represent change; they may be agents of change, but they cannot be "change." Else, I am freedom, sin, stupidity. All of which might be true on a metaphorical level, but this is not poetry.

I find myself wanting like Gertrude "more matter and less art."

More Mini Reads And More Mini Reads!

I confess, I feel like I've been on a shameless bender. This week, I've logged another four.

I won't devote much time to Blasphemy by Douglas Preston, not that it wasn't enjoyable and thought provoking, but because nothing will ever equal the experience of the The Relic which he co-authored with Lincoln Child. That one had the nether regions of the Museum of Natural History and the novelty of abandoned New York Subway tunnels, as well as a fast-paced, hair-raising plot. Still, he had me going on this one. The title I'm lusting after is his new nonfiction book, The Monster of Florence.

Then there was Phantom Prey, another solid mystery/crime story in the John Sanford Prey franchise. I like Lucas Davenport; I can't help it. Still, he seems to be heading into the rarefied circles of Stuart Woods' characters with $2,000 dollar suits. But it's been fun watching him mature. And who'da thought he would turn out to be monogamous?

Now, Jennifer Lee Carrell's Interred With Their Bones is another type of story altogether. A review characterizes it as a DaVinci Code type of book, and in a way it is. In one night, young Kate Stanley loses her directing gig, when the Globe theater burns down, and her once very influential mentor, when the former is murdered, but not before Professor Howard leaves her the first in a tantalizing series of clues. This is very much an intellectual and literary pursuit with murders, Shakespearean lore and chases galore along the way. In sum, an interesting read, nicely written. I wasn't overly fond of the scenes set in 1613, but fortunately they were few. And yeah, people do go really overboard with these literary battles.

What do you do when you're a struggling young Mexican-American wouldbe writer who finds her life becoming enmeshed in life threatening ways with a group of people with a "condition" that renders them sensitive to sun and very fond of blood? When the indomitable Milagros De Los Santos, pun thoroughly intended, finds herself in this predicament, she overcomes it and gets her man. By The Bride of Casa Dracula, the third in the series, Milagros is engaged to marry the super sexy, somewhat vampiric, plastic surgeon Oswald Grant. I won't give away the plot, but I will say that the odd melange of Vampire tradition, wedding planners, and Cuban food make for an interesting romp. Once I hit the second chapter, I was no longer questioning the premise. The characters are memorable and Marta Acosta's style carries you along. Pure fluff. Great beach read.

Got Water?

In last year's July 26th speech, Raul Castro went off on a tangent about milk, a digression the mainstream media managed to miss, maybe it's a language thing. But since almost universally, Cubans quoted in the media have complained that they have not gotten their glass of milk, this year he seems to have lowered his sights.

This year's wonky wending was all about...water. The aqueduct in Santiago should be finished in 2010, about the time Cubans get toasters. Then there are the 15.6 miles of water pipes, the 231.2 miles of major water networks, and the 390.6 miles of secondary water networks. Just some of the scintillating oratory. Get my drift? But lest ordinary Cubans get carried away consuming and splashing about in the as yet fictional water, they were warned they will have to conserve and not hog up all.

Sunday Strangeness

This week's entries come near the witching hour when hopefully no churchyards yawn in your neighborhood.

Trust No One. In a somewhat serious vein, Victor Davis Hanson complains that the 60's won't die. Yet another examination of the less than beneficial legacy of the "me first" generation in this one on Townhall. Have to like the "60's petulance."

Cigarette Smoking Man. I knew it was only a matter of time 'til the truth won out. This article from the Sarasota Herald Tribune informs us that longer lives cost more money. Wellness and prevention are nice, but not all they're cracked up to be economically. What was that about smokers?

The Truth is Out There. There might be "no conclusive proof" tying cell phone use to cancer, but according to this piece, the Director of the University of Pittsburgh Cancer Institute and UPMC Cancer Centers is issuing an advisory to his employees. Heck, I figure, why chance it? I have enough lottery tickets already.

The Lone Gunmen. Speaking of one in a trillion chances, Dr Edgar Mitchell of the Apollo 14 mission says it's true. Aliens have visited the Earth, and the government knows all about it. And yes, they are little men with big eyes. NASA's refutation is interesting. They have a "different opinion." It is what it is or isn't. Read it here.

Tunguska. Or how about in Russia where miners in the northern Kamchatka region are afraid to leave their compound after bears have killed two coworkers? Read the story here.

I Want to Believe. Let's end with another list. This one of religious sightings in unusual places: potato salad, melons, buns. Lends new meaning to finding the divine in everyday life.

Literary Interlude: Written at Lovere, 1755

Wisdom, slow product of laborious years,
The only fruit that life's cold winter bears;
Thy sacred seeds in vain in youth we lay,
By the fierce storm of passion torn away.
Should some remain in a rich gen'rous soil,
They long lie hid, and must be rais'd with toil;
Faintly they struggle with inclement skies,
No sooner born than the poor planter dies.

-Lady Mary Wortley Montagu

Here's a Quote

"There are a lot of people on the street who talk about change, but we haven't had even one economic or political reform that counts, nothing we hoped for with Raul," said Oswaldo, a 69-year-old retired construction worker. He declined to give his last name, saying, "Being able to openly criticize things is something else we can only hope for."

Cuban in an AP piece about the 26th in Cuba.

Souvenir

A friend went to Key West and all I got was this bottle!

He Went; They Saw; I Yawned

Granted I'm immune in the main to the Obamaesque rhetorical flourishes, but even so I was rather disappointed in the Speech in Germany, although for a moment I was reaching for Left Behind, which I don't own. Passages like the following sent a frisson up my spine:

The walls between old allies on either side of the Atlantic cannot stand. The walls between the countries with the most and those with the least cannot stand. The walls between races and tribes; natives and immigrants; Christian and Muslim and Jew cannot stand. These now are the walls we must tear down.

"Oh-oh," I said to myself, "one world government." My last Anti-Christ theory had Obama pegged as the evil one, but now- just for a moment- the thought rose in brain. This is how it happens, the rise of a single government....then....the mark of the beast. And I'm just a lapsed Catholic. Restored to sanity, I tried to pick out the phrase, the money quote. Alas, the closest I came was the "citizen of the world" bit. Who knew the Obama man was so continental?

In part, it's because here in the States we've heard quite a bit of it before, and in similar constructions. There's the hyperbole about saving the planet, which, if threatened, does not seem to be in imminent danger of implosion. There's the grandiosity: not content to address the Beriliners, or even the Germans, he piggybacks onto the historic calls of West Berlin to "People of the World." Then he goes in for one of his favorite devices: repetition. Varying between "people of the world" and "look at Berlin," he really hits his stride. He finishes off with this insistence on "remaking the world." I guess the United States is not world enough for him.

It's very nice that he drew 200,000 plus Germans. But he's not running in Germany. And that constraint limited his speech. Think back, the other two famous Americans who gave the touchstone speeches were sitting presidents. As Merkel indicated when the campaign wanted to have the event at the Brandenburg gate, it would be like a candidate for German Prime Minister holding a rally at the Statue of Liberty.

Call me, crazy, but it doesn't seem wise to campaign in Europe for the American Presidency. We might like them, but we don't necessarily want to be like them.

A Half-Helping of Crow

Yesterday, I complained about the coverage of Cuba in the Christian Science Monitor. Today on Babalu, Val apprises us of quite a different article in said paper. In addition, there is a rather moving article on an independent library, a subject near and dear to my heart. So, well done.

Frankly, that is all I ask. While I can spot the fallacies in yesterday's entries, they are at least balanced by the tenor of today's. It would be nice if it were all accurate, but as human beings we are fallible. What would have been even nicer would have been to have both published on the same day, but to get even a smidge of truth in the MSM media is progress.

Of course, some of the quoted individuals are anti-embargo activists, but as they refrained from commenting on same, it was honky dory. Have to wonder if they paper knew their position, though.

Meanderings: Forget Global Warming

The weather today reminds me of The Swamp, a most excellent book about the Everglades in marked contrast to the classic The Everglades: River of Grass, the reading of which I found somewhat sleep-inducing. Hey, I know, it's just my experience, and I'm a tenement child at heart. Anyway, last night's forecast of another 7 days of "scattered thundershowers" reminds me of those poor, unsuspecting folks who bought land in the 'Glades and built farms, only to find themselves underwater a few years later.

See, the thing about Florida weather is that it sometimes tends to be feast or famine, although our more typical pattern would be sunny with a 50 percent chance of rain in the afternoon. But sometimes, like a few years ago, we came off a rather serious drought into literally forty days and nights of rain. It rained nearly our yearly total of rainfall in two months. Needless to say, about day 20, things began getting a bit water-logged, including the ground into which our septic tanks leached.

Hopefully that pattern won't be repeated this year, although we are coming off of a drought, and it has been raining a bit. You see, I forgot to mention the worst of it: Red Tide. If the pattern holds, we may soon feel its approach. We'll see.

Is There An Agenda Here?

The Christian Science Monitor, which has in the past published questionable articles about the Cuban situation, has outdone itself with a series of articles: "Cuba: Winds of Change." First it sees Cuba under Raul, perhaps creeping toward capitalism, at least that's the headline of this entry would seem to promise. Funny thing is that in all of the discussion of the illegal gym in the parking lot at the center of the piece, the author manages to avoid ever mentioning the recent crackdown on the same types of businesses. Remember the subversive barrette factory? To portray this as the wave of the future is disingenuous at best. Cuba may well be on a tortuous path to capitalism, but it will get there in spite of the machinations of the current powers.

Not content with presenting a skewed view of present conditions, the paper now takes on the mythical "generational divide" of Cubans in this one. Maybe, they're hoping it'll become a self-fulfilling prophecy. As yet, I have seen no hard evidence that the younger generation is willing to lift the embargo, hold hands, and sing kum-ba-ya with the Cuban Capos. I gotta wonder if all these journalists have a wijja board or something. Maybe Joe Garcia dons a turban and pulls out a crystal ball.

And no presentation of the great and glorious future awaiting Cuba is complete without that ubiquitous Florida rancher and cheerleader John Parke Wright. In a side bar, he tells us how encouraged he is by the new business spirit on the island and how people like him should be allowed to restock the cattle industry. It's all the big, bad embargo, you know. Had Mr. Wright's livestock and land been stolen, you can bet he would be singing a different tune. But since it wasn't, he'd apparently deal with the devil, a devil that doesn't pay its bills by the way.

It is particularly galling that the resourcefulness they all laud as the sign of a changing Cuba is a harsh expedient forced on a captive population- desperate to eke out a living any way they can- by the system under which they live. Why, you might as well praise the healthiness of the diet forced on them by the scarcity of foodstuffs. But, wait, that's been done.

Call It Journalism?

I dog MSNBC quite a bit, so we'll let 'em have a bit of equal time so to speak. Here's Chris Matthews explaining his tingling leg remark. Context does make a difference. Still although I'll grant he's not an umpire, publically favoring one presidential candidate still looks unseemly to me. Note his use of "Barack."

Here's Andrea Mitchell demonstrating at least an iota of rumgumption in reference to the choreography of Obama's trip.

Easy as 123

Here are some figures to contemplate. We've all heard of the "blockade" maintained by the United States against poor, meek, and mild Cuba. Well, that's difficult to maintain in light of these figures. Let's try a few.

In 2007, the US exported 447.1 million dollars worth of foodstuffs and pharmaceuticals to Cuba, making it the island's fifth largest supplier.

It's Just a Cinematic Sunday

Shadow of a Doubt. By now we've all seen the fallout from "whinegate," as in Gramm resigning from the McCain campaign. Austin Hill in this article asks the question "Are we a nation of whiners?" Now for the person who has lost his job or business, the question is insulting, but if we move from the economy to the election.... Read it and think.

Torn Curtain. Jose at Cubanology brought this one to my attention. Seems that in Hollywood admitting you are a Republican, or just not a liberal, can be dangerous to your career health, or at the very least your social standing. So tell me something I don't know. Still, it's nice to see it in writing, and a few more closet pubbies were outed. Most interesting is Breitbart's analysis of the effect of this ideological rigidity on the product.

Notorious. In this one, Stuart Levine discovers that strong women in TV are labeled "bitches." Hallelujah! Funny thing is I love many of the characters he cites, particularly the sluttish Grace. You go, girl!

Foreign Correspondent. As Obama makes his previctory progression through Europe, there will be one corner of Prague forever Republican, or so you would infer from this profile of the
Mlynská Kavarná, or Mill Café. Charming.

The Birds. Actually more like the bees. Motorists on the Jersey Turnpike were assailed by bees. Was it a swarm of mad killer bees or the survivors of some radioactive mutation? Naw, somebody's hive broke according to the article. This all leads to the first comment that we should destroy all bees.

Lifeboat. Let's end with another list. An instructive one this time: 10 tips for the unwary about financial promises made on TV commercials. Duh. Actually, it's part of a larger 10 tips section that's pretty interesting.

...and for the bonus question....who were the directors?

I'm Mad as Hell and I'm Not Going to Take it Anymore!

I guess that's how Humberto Fontova was feeling when he wrote this. He reminded me with a longer version as I fumed on Babalublog over a Salon.com piece. I know, I know, I shouldn't go there. Ah, but you have to keep your enemies closer. Don't think they're enemies of Cuban Americans? Take a gander at an excerpt from Humberto's article:

“Truly disgusting!” was how Bryant Gumbel characterized them a few years back. Last year Georgetown professor Norman Birnbaum, an advisor to three presidential candidates for America's majority political party, called them a “truly repellent” group. This past November, one of America's most influential newspaper (The Washington Post) and one that habitually endorses America's majority political party, ran a cartoon celebrating their expulsion from the country en masse.

In a nation where the mildest, most off-handed-- or even unwitting, see “black hole,” “niggardly”-- mention of ethnic traits commits the professional and social equivalent of a capital crime, the usual sniffers and snouters on ethnic sensitivity issued nary a peep against the blatant bigotry just mentioned, or in defense of the vilified ethnic group.

Pretty personal, I'd say.

On the Matter of Weddings: Or Where I've Been

Part of the field where I would have had the wedding.

I have always had something of an attitude about weddings, even when I was young and in love. Dad, on the other hand, had his own idea of what constituted a wedding, and as he phrased it, he only had one daughter. Well, it was kinda like the Green Acres song.

***

Fast forward thirty years or so and here I am older, more jaded, and definitely more cynical, snickering at the young women clutching their Brides magazine to their chests. At least I was, until the little one got engaged. Unfortunately, she's on the Left Coast. So here I am in Sarasota, charged with planning a wedding. Talk about the unlikeliest of people. All of a sudden, I'm the one sneaking a peak at The Knot. Funny thing is, I'm fully into the thing. Papi's revenge.

***

I have run into the Southern Wedding. In my New York brain, a wedding reception is supposed to rain food and drink. The other day, my mother reminded me that at mine there were no less than 21 different foodstuffs at the cocktail hour alone. Then there is the whole choreography thing of first dances, etc.... and a hell of a good party.

***

My friends from Mississippi inform me that I am mistaken. That some weddings actually have... I almost can't write it... cash bars. In fact, they recently came back from a wedding at a big, old antebellum plantation where when one of the gaggle of young boys came back from the pond with an 8 lb. bass, and the adult boys made a bee line for their trucks and started a fishing frenzy in the poor homeowner's pond. True story.

***

In Sarasota since we are so much more upscale, there is a variant. I've come to learn that a wedding here is an expensive dinner with 3 hors d'oeuvres, count 'em 3, a panoply of unlikely taste combinations and a full bar you pay per drink. My father must be rolling over in his grave. If there is a dance floor at all, it's tucked in a nether corner of the room opposite this same bar. Not surprisingly, many people opt for the beach wedding. Having survived the hellish heat of an outdoor wedding in the summer last year, that's not an option, otherwise I would have suggested a barbeque. Oh, but wait, having it at home-which was my first choice-is even more costly. Rent the tent, rent the air-conditioners, rent the tables, chairs, linens, dishes, cutlery, get liability insurance, a permit from the county.... Yeah, not quite.

***

Oh, well, you know what they say, "When in Rome.." So here's to my prime rib with a mango chutney salsa. At least it's half the price of a New York fete.

Mini Reads for a Friday Afternoon

Well, friends, I've been in reading heaven most of the week, begrudging the time that family, friends and just plain living take. Have I found a marvelous book, you wonder. Not exactly. Just got my hands new books by some of my favorite authors.

First up was Plague Ship by Clive Cussler with Jack DuBrul. Plot is intricate, perhaps too much so, but, boy, what a read! It's just plain fun: you don't read the book, you enter into the Cusslerian world. The writing just carries you along whether or not you find Juan Cabrillo and crew plausible.

James Lee Burke's latest, Swan Peak, although not quite in the same league as some of his earlier works, such as A Stained White Radiance and In the Mists with the Confederate Dead, is a pleasant and riveting visit with old friends Dave Robicheaux and Clete Purcell. No question here as to plausibility. Reformed and practicing alcoholics, Vietnam vets, ex-New Orleans cops, just people living in the marrow of life, the characters are real people to aficionados. In fact, Clete who's been something of a two dimensional character gets a bit more development in this one. The writing here just keeps you reading. Reminds me of the Penn Warren's "And then" sort of thing.

Finally, I was really excited to discover a new writer, Michael Harvey. Actually, he's co-creator of Cold Case Files, so he's not exactly a new writer, but The Chicago Way is his debut novel. His PI, Michael Kelly, would feel right at home with some of the grittiest detectives in the noir tradition, as well as Lahane's Kenzie. His is a bleak Chicago where corruption and violence permeate the chilly fabric of the city. And don't miss the plot twist. I was suspicious when I saw the praise from Grisham, Connelly, and Reichs on the cover. This is one instance in which it is deserved. I'll be reading Harvey from now on.

Fact or Fiction?

Yes, high speed internet is making its way to Cuba via Venezuela. Not to be picky, but does this bit from Information Week seem to have a decided bent? Prominently featured is this quote from the Wiki Leaks report:

"The contract between the two countries, which has been independently verified, adds weight to Cuban statements that the United States economic embargo of the island has forced it to rely on slow and expensive satellite links for Internet connectivity," said Wilileaks investigative editor Julian Assange in the report. "

The supposed refusal of the United States to allow Cuba access has also been in just about every report. But I'm a little confused. Here's Dan Fisk from the National Security Council in May.

...it may interest you to know that the Bush Administration authorized a U.S. company in 2002 to connect Cuba to an existing fiber-optic cable in the Atlantic. That authorization is still valid. The fact is that the Cuban regime has not been interested in providing the Cuban people with Internet access. Further, the President has twice offered to license U.S. non-governmental organizations and faith-based groups to provide Internet-ready computers to the Cuban people if the regime ends it restrictions on Internet access. We are still waiting for the regime to allow Internet access to the Cuban people. I hope you are asking the rulers in Havana the same question. (The full text of his remarks here.)

Wonder why I haven't come across that tidbit in any of the reports?

Meanderings: The Pigeon has Landed

Although my all time favorite comedy is probably Young Frankenstein or Jumping Jack Flash, which was on TV recently, one of the most memorable comedic scenes is to be found in the particularly silly Love at First Bite. Driven from his castle by an angry mob- government types according to Arte Johnson/Mr. Renfield- Dracula relocates to 1970's New York City, where only the tough survive. By the way, how does Renfield know they're from the government? Well, as he explains to George Hamilton/Count Dracula, "they have shoes."

So here is Count Dracula, morphed into a bat, on the prowl for a victim in the Big Apple. Seen through the window of a tenement or project is a dejected, desperately poor family, discussing their plight. At that moment, the unsuspecting bat flies in the window. They look up, stunned, but what do they yell? Are there cries of fear or wonder? No, after a moment's hesitation come cries of "Black chicken! Black chicken!" as they scurry trying to capture the thoroughly humiliated Count who is reduced to feeding on a Skid Row denizen.

The providential fowl is a motif I've had exposure to in life. I once met a Colombian minister, quite a learned fellow, who had graduated from Princeton. His childhood, though, was one of grinding poverty. His widowed mother had raised a large family in those days and in that country. This woman had great faith and would always tell her children, "God will provide."

One day they were walking down the street. Things were at their bleakest: they had nothing to eat. Beset by hunger, the children were complaining. "God will provide" was their mother's reply. Then, as if on cue, a bit fat juicy pigeon landed at their feet. It was a turning point. They remained poor, but circumstances were never again that desperate.

I know, I know, it sounds apocryphal. But this man of the cloth swore it was true. We've seized upon the thought at my house. Think about it. How many times has an unexpected check, or professional opportunity popped up at a particularly opportune moment. Around here, we look at each other and say, "The pigeon has landed." And so it goes.

Dangerous Ground: Updated

The buzz today is about Obama's Op-Ed piece in the New York Times on his plan for Iraq, which strategy entails some fancy footwork around his earlier positions, despite his protestations to the contrary. The media, however, has zeroed in, and rightly so, on a sentence buried in the discussion of the greater Iraq strategy in which the wouldbe president announces that he would send two additional brigades to Afghanistan.

The hair on the back of my neck rises. Is Obama here attempting to establish his willingness to use force in order to compensate for a perceived weakness on national defense? I suspect Hillary would not have found herself in this position. But it is not an unusual one for a Democrat. It is, however, dangerous. History has long taught that military supremacy is not a formula for success in Afghanistan, as both the British and the Russians learned the hard way. I would suggest that before we become involved in a situation that could well make Iraq look like a picnic, we think long and hard. Would it not make more sense to truly turn our attention to improving the lives of Afghanis?

Obama is correct that we need to pay more attention to Afghanistan. I'm just not at all sure more military is the way to go, and I fear that he may well feel the need to prove himself to our national detriment.

Update: Say it ain't so, Mac. Not to be outdone by his rival, McCain pledges to send three more brigades to Afghanistan. Everything I wrote still stands. Seizing on the lesson of Iraq should not entail forgetting earlier conflicts.

Sunday in the Garden

Gather Ye Rosebuds.... In addition to the leading bookstore indicators, the polls continue to show the Illinois Senator's position heading South. This is going to prove interesting. Read about it in Newsweek.

Every Rose has its Thorn. Lots of press about airline imbroglios this week. There was the planeload of passengers who, understandably miffed because the crew was delayed, booed their pilot. As I discovered, wedged between two very large gentlemen with a decided disinclination to close their legs, it is never a good idea to po the airline people. Personally, as I come armed with a good book, I don't mind waiting off the airplane. Were I stuck on the tarmac, I would undoubtedly freak, being tempted to do what this passenger did here.

The Bloom is Off the Rose. T. Boone Pickens, concerned citizen or savvy investor or both, has launched his own media campaign to address the oil situation. His interim solution: wind for generating electricity and natural gas for cars. Of course, he's building a mega wind plant. Read it here.

A Rose by Any Other Name. In the celebrity news corner, we have a new tell-all book by Madonna's brother which happily coincides with the brouhaha over the supposed demise of her marriage and alleged affair with A-Rod. Just in to the newsroom... Angelina Jolie delivered a matched set by Cesarean section. Ouch!

Guns and Roses. Here's a list of the top ten gangster movies. See how it compares with yours. Personally, Scarface did nothing for me. I couldn't get past Al Pacino's Puerto Rican accent. Where's Donnie Brasco, The Valachi Papers, The Black Hand?

It's Axiomatic!

"From each according to his ability, to each according to his need."
Karl Marx

"From each according to his ability, to each according to his work."
Raul Castro

"Socialism means social justice and equality, but equality of rights, of opportunities, not of income..." Raul Castro

"All animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others. "
George Orwell

Elegy for a Dictatorship?

This month’s Condé Nast Traveler boasts an article about Cuba entitled “Remains of the Revolution.” And it certainly lives up to the allusion of the title, as author John Graham provides not only a travelogue of sorts, but also a requiem for an era and a regime. His is not a look-at-the-reforms type of piece: these he treats with skepticism. No, rather the impression, unstated, is one of inevitability, like the fate of those multi-storied Havana buildings, decayed and crumbling under the weight of time.

Starting at the Floridita where he finds himself drinking with the likes of Padura, he never loses sight of those Cuban realities most mojito swilling tourists seem to miss. For instance, after telling us he loves Cuba, he feels the need to qualify the statement-

But lest you regard me as a sentimental fool, let me couch my amour in a little pragmatism. Unlike Jack Nicholson, who arrived here in 1998 and proclaimed Fidel "a genius," I see a place that possesses a magnificent legacy architecturally, culturally, and spiritually but that has been suppressed and held back by fifty years of Socialist torpor. Far from being a genius, Fidel was a political anachronism for decades before he resigned. Holding on to l'illusion lyrique (the early, idealistic phase of the revolution) far beyond its sell-by date, he has dragged his talented, free-spirited people down with him.

The sound you hear is yet another chink in the Great Wall of Denial that has shielded the Castroite regime. Are there things he writes that I don’t like? Sure, but I am impressed by just how much he gets right. Read it here.

Cross-posted at Babalublog

Quote of the Day

"It just seems like another racial move on their part," Tejada said. "They know how many lower-income families live in the neighborhood and how much it will impact them. There are a lot of big families here."

Gillespie Park resident Maritzabel Tejada on the parking ban.

The War Against the Poor: More of the Same in Sarasota

For decades, there has been a tension in Sarasota between the haves and the have nots, leading to the anecdote often tossed into discussions that many years ago when one of the former was queried as to who would cut their lawns if the latter could not afford to live in the city, he supposedly responded with "Let them live in Bradenton," the Gulf Coast equivalent to "Let them eat cake," one supposes.

One of the first things I noticed when I moved to this town were the gated developments rising all over the county. My Northern brain could not comprehend the wall upon wall before me when there was so little crime. Alas, at the time I was blissfully oblivious to the wannabe factor. A town of aspiring social climbers, many of whose entire capital resulted from the sale of the Long Island Cape Cod and others whose only endowment is a decided talent for self-aggrandizement, has no room for real people, for the gritty, messy, unraveled ends of humanity.

It strikes me that if this crew has its way, and it has taken over the centers of legal authority, all of Sarasota will morph into a over-sized Longboat Key. For the uninitiated, there is not a single foot of undeveloped, unobstructed beachfront not in private hands on Longboat, unless you include the small patch of public beach with no parking for miles. That'll keep the riff-raff out. There is also nary a poor person on the island. But it is the grass that seizes my imagination. Mile after mile of lawn is so manicured and uniform in color that it resembles nothing more than a carpet, as if no blade of grass would dare defy the strictures of the place by growing wild or unevenly.

So where are we now? Well, we have the use of public funds in the name of parking spaces for development projects of near million dollar condos. Then there are the temperance society smoking laws: no smoking on the beaches, no county employment for smokers. And now apparently we have the parking laws. The latest front in the war against the poor is the parking ban in Gillespie Park, a working class neighborhood, too close to the gentrified downtown for its own good. From now on, parking is limited to driveways and the streets. It is hinted that the same will befall the rest of Sarasota. Sounds logical, doesn't it? I mean, nobody wants to live next to the Jukes with the rusting hulks on the lawn or the immigrants of questionable legal status who live dorm style in a two bedroom cottage.

That is the problem. Each proposal sounds reasonable but carries with it more and more erosion of the live and let live atmosphere that once characterized the place. To many people, it is just code for another measure to make it more difficult for the working class, many of whom have about five feet of driveway and at least two cars of whatever vintage. If nothing else, it is symptomatic of the prissiness that is taking over our lives, here in Paradise.

I stand to gain nothing in this discussion, as I have no garage or driveway. Lucky for me, I don't live in Gillespie Park, either. But they will come for me, fear not.

The Sarasota Herald Tribune has done some solid reporting here. Good column here.

Life as Art

You can blame this post on Obama, because going by the leading bookstore indicators, Obama fatigue has set in. That is not to say he will not win, but no longer does his mug on the cover of anything guarantee swift sales. Noting this reminds me of the infamous Warhol quote about "15 minutes" of fame. I'll grant Obama more than 15 minutes, but his star is dimming just the same.

Roundabout this time, I come across the book pictured above. It occurs to me that I know very few people who love Hemingway's writing. Those that do seem to be either advanced in years or male or both. Yet Hemingway as a character himself is almost universally beloved. I wonder how the great man would feel that it is his colorful career rather than his spartan prose that excites many readers?

***

Fertile ground for rumination, here. After all, there have been a plethora of autobiographies by people who are essentially nobodies. They haven't crossed the Delaware, cured polio, or even performed Hamlet on stage. True, in the modern purview even Willie Loman was worthy of a work of literature. "Could it be that there is something more to this, though?" I ask myself. So...

***

Deep, deep thought of the day: In a world in which we deny the existence of great men and women... even Mother Teresa came in for criticism and had her faith questioned... in a world that is increasingly less literate... the average adult American reads four books a year and when was the last time a book of poetry by anyone other than a talented dying boy who appeared on Larry King was a best seller... centered more and more on the ego... could it be that in a stark, post modern world, stripped of furbelows and flounces, our creative impulses have turned inward and we look upon our lives as just so much clay to make a statement? It could explain the inauthenticity which surrounds us. Verry Interresting.

By the way, the book looks interesting. More here.

Airlines Fighting Back

The little one who is a frequent flier received this today from an airline. Thought it might be of interest.

An Open Letter to All Airline Customers



Our country is facing a possible sharp economic downturn because of

skyrocketing

oil and fuel prices, but by pulling together, we can all do something

to help now.



For airlines, ultra-expensive fuel means thousands of lost jobs and

severe reductions in air service to both large and small communities.

To the broader economy, oil prices mean slower activity and widespread

economic pain. This pain can be alleviated, and that is why we are

taking the extraordinary step of writing this joint letter to our

customers.



Since high oil prices are partly a response to normal market forces,

the nation needs to focus on increased energy supplies and

conservation. However, there is another side to this story because

normal market forces are being dangerously amplified by poorly

regulated market speculation.



Twenty years ago, 21 percent of oil contracts were purchased by

speculators who trade oil on paper with no intention of ever taking

delivery. Today, oil speculators purchase 66 percent of all oil

futures contracts, and that reflects just the transactions that are

known.



Speculators buy up large amounts of oil and then sell it to each

other again and again. A barrel of oil may trade 20-plus times before

it is delivered and used; the price goes up with each trade and

consumers pick up the final tab. Some market experts estimate that

current prices reflect as much as $30 to $60 per barrel in unnecessary

speculative costs.



Over seventy years ago, Congress established regulations to control

excessive, largely unchecked market speculation and manipulation.

However, over the past two decades, these regulatory limits have been

weakened or removed. We believe that restoring and enforcing these

limits, along with several other modest measures, will provide more

disclosure, transparency and sound market oversight. Together, these

reforms will help cool the over-heated oil market and permit the

economy to prosper.



The nation needs to pull together to reform the oil markets and solve

this growing problem.



We need your help. Get more information and contact Congress by

visiting www.StopOilSpeculationNow.com/sos.





Sincerely,





Robert Fornaro

Chairman, President and CEO

AirTran Airways, Inc.



Bill Ayer

Chairman, President and CEO

Alaska Airlines, Inc.





Gerard J. Arpey

Chairman, President and CEO

American Airlines, Inc.



Lawrence W. Kellner

Chairman and CEO

Continental Airlines, Inc.





Richard Anderson

CEO

Delta Air Lines, Inc.



Mark B. Dunkerley

President and CEO

Hawaiian Airlines, Inc.





Dave Barger

CEO

JetBlue Airways Corporation



Timothy E. Hoeksema

Chairman, President and CEO

Midwest Airlines





Douglas M. Steenland

President and CEO

Northwest Airlines, Inc.



Gary Kelly

Chairman and CEO

Southwest Airlines Co.





Glenn F. Tilton

Chairman, President and CEO

United Airlines, Inc.



Douglas Parker

Chairman and CEO

US Airways Group, Inc.

About That Silver Lining...

A few days ago, I posted about the potential positives in our current economic situation. This week's Time has "10 Things You Can Like About $4 Gas." That last point kinda reminds me of all those studies that say hunger was healthy for Cubans during "the special period." For what it's worth.

You say "Village"...

Cuba's village of Camaguey, settled in 1528, contains large and small squares, serpentine streets, alleys and irregular urban blacks[blocks?], which make it "highly exceptional for Latin American colonial towns" located on the plains, the world heritage committee said late Monday.

I'm sure that in the 1500's, it was a village. But by the 20th century, my mother would have said "city." That's because Camaguey was the provincial capital, the place to go for upscale shopping and high brow ladies, girdled up to their sternums. Be that as it may, word is out today that Unesco has designated Camaguey as a World Heritage Site. You can read about it here.

Telex Reviewed: Updated

Update: A kindly anonymous comment indicates that Kushner has put up a website associated with the book. It is quite lovely. Just click on the circles for some slide shows and more.

A while back I posted on Telex from Cuba. Well, some of the reviews are in. Both the San Francisco Chronicle and the LA Times have write-ups here and here. The latter includes some author's commentary. Perhaps the prettiest review comes from the International Herald Tribune. The New York Times has the first chapter . As for your humble correspondent, my earlier impressions.

Whose Wiser?

Here's an interesting angle to the proposed hostile takeover of Anheuser-Busch by Belgian InBev. Among the machinations afoot is a move to replace the board which turned down InBev's offer. The Budsters have countered with a number of moves. In this Reuters article the embattled company discloses an eye opening fact about their unwanted suitor:

Anheuser also made a political jab at InBev. It said that InBev, through a subsidiary, has a partnership with the government of Cuba to produce and distribute products in Cuba.

Gee, that's illegal, isn't it?

Sunday Song

What's it all about? BO professes himself a bit flummoxed by the uproar caused by his "refining" his Iraq policy according to this Reuters' report on MSNBC. I would agree with him that it is a good thing to adapt to circumstances. Only problem is that had we followed his earlier prescription we would have lost the war. Bit of a problem, there.

Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear.... While on the topic of MSNBC, I've read in a few venues- most of them conservative- that there is a struggle going on for the soul of the NBC network. The latest entry is from Jed Babbin at Human Events. Sad thing is I really miss the network of old, even MSNBC which before its hosts went off the reservation had the most interesting political coverage. Website is still pretty good.

Let's call the whole thing off. Robert Samuelson in Newsweek informs us that the effects of speculation in the commodities markets have been exaggerated. After all, it's pension funds and school endowments dabbling in futures. Question, if they are in the market are they not increasing demand? Still, it's worth reading.

Fly me to the moon. If you've ever wondered how much of a difference one person can make, read this and see how a single goat was enough to change a young woman's life. The requisite heart-warming human interest story here.

Why? Being intimately acquainted with Slovenians, or Slovenskis, as they call themselves, this tragic story does not surprise. An officially organized last trip down the river turned tragic as two canoes were sucked into the soon to be opened dam. Among the eight lost, the mayor and member of parliament. Read about it here.

When Road Leads to Neverending Road

There's a line in Waiting for Godot, something to the effect that it is the worst thing to have thought, which would seem pretty stupid. And yet like much of Godot, though it be madness, yet there is a method in't. Witness what happens when instead of jumping on a bandwagon of whatever stripe, you find yourself actually trying to sort things out for yourself.

From the very beginning of the Bobama odyssey, I have been asking, "What, pray tell, is an organizer?" I mean what kind of occupation is that? As a title, it has no substance, an occupation built of air, shapeless, open to all sorts of construction. Then last week, I stumbled upon an article by Byron York in the National Review that took that very tack, namely, what is an organizer and what did Barack Obama do during his tenure as such.

A portion of the article is available on line, and the magazine is still available for a day or two. Aha, I thought upon reading, organizer is just another word for rabble-rouser, because going by the Saul Alinksky rule book, you have to convince people they are wronged, then cause all sorts of grief. Smugly, I thought, "I knew it."

But then I stumbled upon a link to an article/essay by Camille Paglia about Hillary on Penúltimos Días. Now I'm not going to cry crocodile tears for old Hil. If she were a true feminist, she would have given old Bill a good, swift kick in his ample posterior when she discovered he was doing some variation of the dirty with young Monica. She did not. So while I admire her single-mindedness, I cannot see her as the poster girl for feminism. Yet, I know full well that to many men, she is the prototypical emasculating woman. These last would vote for Kim Jong-Il before they would cast a vote in her direction.

It was not the article, then, that got to me, rather, it was the era. I used to love to inform my students that I attended Barnard and not Columbia because that worthy institution admitted men only. You see, I hit my teens during the "women's lib" movement. I benefited from their activism, dare I say "organizing." What was consciousness raising after all? So now, I had to alter my perspective somewhat.

As all roads seem to lead to Cuba lately, I began to realize something the opposition in Cuba has been saying. Just like downtrodden women...do I begin to head toward battered women...no, this near interminable post will never end then....Anyway, it occurs to me that, shockingly, people who have been beaten down might actually need to be informed of the same. I'm not sure what the mechanism is, whether you begin to lose the sense of entitlement as a human being, whether you think that the consumption of crumbs is your appointed lot in life, whatever.

In the end, then, one man or woman's organizer is an other's rabble-rouser. I promise to look into this one carefully. Meantime, "Let's go." (They stay seated.)

The Escapist Reader: Taking It Out On Trade

It's a funny thing, but the format of a book can tell you much about its contents, for instance, those trade paperbacks, you know, the ones that have exactly the same story as your regular joe paperback but cost twice as much. Of course, the kind of trade paperbacks to which I'm referring would not be caught dead in the form of one of those low brow less than tomes. No, these are stories that will never appear in any other form. They will follow the lives of ineloquent, white bread residents of the Midwest, or women with psychosocial "problems," or nonwhites in some distant country. One thing they all share is that nothing much seems to happen, or that by the time the one thing does happen the reader has ceased to care.

I blame Oprah for the rise of the trade paperback, although I do so with a heavy heart. Oprah has done a good thing with her book recommendations: rekindled the interest of many women in reading, stimulated a portion of the beleaguered publishing industry, and generally presented reading as a good thing in our increasingly non literate society. I used to read all of her selections until Wally Lamb's She's Come Undone, circa nineteen ninety something, which was so depressing it crystallized for me what was wrong with them. The people were boring, and their lives were enough to send me reaching for the scotch that must be somewhere in the back of the junk closet. In the past few years, thankfully, she's turned to the classics so at least we can be depressed with more style. Here's a complete list of her book club titles.

Actually, I don't object to all of them, just the contemporary trade paperback titles. Have a gander at the summer reading list in her magazine here. Don't think I'll be picking up any of these babies anytime soon. Call me a Philistine, but I have my own theory of what a summer reading book should be. It should have a beginning, middle, and an end, even if the end is at the beginning. It should have interesting characters, not lumpen. Most importantly, something should happen. For sitting on a beach, nothing beats murder, mayhem, international espionage, even romance. What I don't want while on the sand is a book that forces me to think, that makes it a struggle to focus. Instead, engross me, make me care about your characters, carry me along with the strength of the writing, and stay away from the passive voice. Let me have a little vicarious thrill. There will be time enough for serious matter in the fall.

A Barnyard Story

A friend sent me this one, and I just had to share. I wish I could give credit where it is due.

THE BELLS

John the farmer was in the fertilized egg business. He had several hundred young layers (hens), called 'pullets', and ten roosters, whose job it was to fertilize the eggs.

The farmer kept records and any rooster that didn't perform went into the soup pot and was replaced. That took an awful lot of his time, so he bought a set of tiny bells and attached them to his roosters. Each bell had a different tone so John could tell from a distance, which rooster was performing. Now he could sit on the porch and fill out an efficiency report simply by listening to the bells.

The farmer's favorite rooster was "old" Butch, a very fine specimen he was, too. But on this particular morning John noticed "old" Butch's bell hadn't rung at all! John went to investigate. The other roosters were chasing pullets, bells-a-ringin g. The pullets, hearing the roosters coming, would run for cover.

But to Farmer John's amazement, "old" Butch had his bell in his beak, so it couldn't ring. He'd sneak up on a pullet, do his job and walk on to the next one. John was so proud of old Butch, he entered him in the Renfrew County Fair and he became an overnight sensation among the judges.

The result...The judges not only awarded "old Butch" the No Bell Piece Prize but they awarded him the Pulletsurprise as well.

Clearly "old Butch" was a politician in the making: who else but a politician could figure out how to win two of the most highly coveted awards on our planet by being the best at sneaking up on the populace and screwing them when they weren't paying attention.

Vote carefully this year...the bells are not always audible

Summer Rain

I'm driving home, stopped at a red light. A few minutes later, as I cross the intersection, I go from overcast brooding sky to torrential Florida rain. There is something wonderful in the moment, something intimate as the skies break all around me. And I realize I have been happy all day. It hits me that I am a lucky woman.

It's not my circumstances- they can be heartbreaking. It is that somewhere along the road, I've picked up the ability to enjoy the moment. To appreciate just moving and breathing, music in the background, as I go about my work day. To absorb the warmth and the sun, even when it is torrid, or accept the invitation to settle in when the tropical rains come. In short, to enjoy just being alive. Who could have it better?

Sometimes, when things are really tough and I'm feeling overwhelmed, I think of the Taoist story about Chef Ting. And I think to myself that I've had to live my life in the spaces between the joints, as if others had gotten much more. Camus' Meursault thinks he could get used to living in the trunk of a tree. I wouldn't go that far. But I do know that there is happiness to be found in the spaces between the life we thought we would lead and the one we have.