Slap Dash Sunday

Let's start with the inauguration/coronation. The inaugural poem by Elizabeth Alexander has come in for a drubbing. Not so at the Weekly Standard where Eli Lehrer praises it as a celebration of everyday life in this. He may have half a point. You can read the text here. As for me, the last time I paid attention was when I was sorely disappointed by the Maya Angelou opus. Question of the day: has poetry lost relevance to our lives, or have our lives lost their poetry?

Billed as holding lessons for the Obama administration, here are some easily accessible documents, part of the choreography of US/Cuba relationships over time. Not so coincidentally they are cited in an article in the February Cigar Aficionado, which fueled by altruism, nicotine, and the American way has a special report on Cuba. Macanudos, mulatas, and misery, anyone?

In a reverse Cinderella story, this former nurse, widow of a physician, finds herself destitute, having lost 7.3 million to financier/apparent con artist Bernie Madoff. Consequently, she finds herself selling off possessions and working as a companion. It's a sad story, but it boggles my mind that anyone would entrust all their resources to a single person/outfit.

In the science department, the earlier mentioned outbreak of the Reston variant of Ebola in Philippine pigs may have jumped species. According to this article, one worker tested positive for the virus. And earthquakes have hit Los Angeles, a small one, and Alaska, a larger one. Stay tuned.

Literary Interlude: "A Refusal to Mourn the Death, by Fire, of a Child in London"

Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking
And the still hour
Is come of the sea tumbling in harness

And I must enter again the round
Zion of the water bead
And the synagogue of the ear of corn
Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound
Or sow my salt seed
In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn

The majesty and burning of the child's death.
I shall not murder
The mankind of her going with a grave truth
Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath
With any further Elegy of innocence and youth.

Deep with the first dead lies London's daughter,
Robed in the long friends,
The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother,
Secret by the unmourning water
Of the riding Thames.
After the first death, there is no other.

-Dylan Thomas

Meanderings: That Final Tear

My mother died this Monday. She was gravely ill, but the speed of her passing took us by surprise. My brother was on a plane here at the moment of her death. I, however, was by her side. She went gently. Her death spared her a considerable amount of suffering. You will not find my family weeping and gnashing teeth by the funeral bier. There will be no ripping of cloth. It is our custom not to mourn death but rather to celebrate life. And she had led a full and passionate one.

I could deal with it all, as that river flows on carrying our griefs and joys, our suffering and our elation, if it were not for that tear. Just before she began leaving in earnest, a big, fat droplet escaped the corner of her eye and began running down her cheek. It is that tear that haunts me. Earlier that morning when it looked like she was going, I had whispered to her unresponsive form that my brother was on the way. I had asked that she hold on just a little while longer...if she could. Her breathing became more regular, and it looked like she would make it. But by afternoon, she could wait no more. I embraced her still warm body fiercely, as if a daughter's love could reach her where she had gone.

Was she saddened that he would not be at her side? Or was that tear because she would be leaving me alone to face the world? She had always been my ally and my comfort, as well as my friend. Saddest of all is the thought that it was a final pang of sadness at leaving "the confines of the day." I'd like to think that it was a tear of joy, that those shrouded eyes were gazing on my father and her parents as she took her first steps toward paradise. But there were no indications of the supernatural. Just mortality.

I've found comfort in the thought that it was probably a purely physiological response. I suspect she was long gone by then. I've researched it on the net where I found that it is called Lacrima Mortis and occurs in about 14 percent of dying patients. So as I wonder whether I did enough, realize in hindsight that I should have taken the whole week off last week and not just part, even as I know I was by her side through it all, I will consign that last effluent to the emotional neutrality of science. In the meantime, I will discover what it is to live without my mother by my side.

I picture her now the way she was when she and my father danced at the Club in Vertientes, with luxuriant raven hair, ruby lips and movie star eyes. Clad in spangled evening dress, she looks over the shoulder of my father, her rock, in his white linen suit with his hair already thinning and smiles as they dance to the strains of Beny's orchestra. Who am I to begrudge her that?

Legacy of Loss

I recently came across this heartwarming human interest story which appeared in the Sacramento Bee. Maria Celia Garcia is making a movie of her parents' life before and after the revolution, including the trials of attempting to flee the regime. Now, I have no idea how old she is. But not two days later in a conversation with a young student filmmaker who is trying to make a movie loosely based on the Anguilla Cay incident, we agreed that when pundits, politicians, and the press talk about a "generational shift" among young Cuban Americans, they misread their tea leaves.

Whatever their everyday concerns, their political predilections, I'll guarantee that just about each and every child of a Cuban parent has inherited the awful sense of loss, of the wrong done. It is something my generation, the first born or brought up in the United States, picked up directly from our parents and grandparents, and which we in turn have passed on to our children. Perhaps it does not manifest itself in protests on Calle Ocho; but here and there, it surfaces, whether in a movie or a review, a book or even a school project. There is a need to say, "This happened."

So while some celebrate the passing of the "hard-liners," the first exiles, they underestimate the upcoming generations, who- standing on the shoulders of their wronged forbears- are making their way up the ladder of American society in every field of endeavor in even larger numbers. They are our own fifth column in the propaganda wars, this generation of Americans who carry the exile in their hearts. We will not forget, and I suspect they will not let them forget either.

Cross-posted at Babalublog

A Sunday, A Monday, A Tuesday

String Beans. Reading this one about Bush's last press conference by Ted Anthony had me checking to make sure I wasn't on the Huffington Post and not Townhall. I know Bush disappointed a lot of people, but there's something wrong when we sound like MSNBC. See what you think here.

Spaghetti. On a lighter note, in the life imitating art category. A 10 year old Indiana young man found his tongue firmly attached to pole after rising to a dare. No word on whether he'd ever seen A Christmas Story. Story at Fox News here.

Soup. Seems there is or was life on Mars after all. The Sun informs that plumes of methane gas on the planet indicate the presence of microorganisms at some point. Check out the NASA video here. Also from the same source, an outbreak of plague struck down an Al Queda training camp in Algeria. How positively medieval. Read it here.

Roast Beef. Can it be, Obama and Chavez already engaged in verbal fisticuffs? You, betcha. In a Univision interview, Obama characterized Chavez as a hindrance to Latin America, while in reply Chavez maintained that Obama smelled. I kid you not.

Some Disturbing Images

An Assortment of Reads

Since I've been spending my time in the kinds of places without much to do, I've managed to read a book here and there. First was Prince of Fire, followed by The Messenger by Daniel Silva. In both Silva puts a different spin on the standard spy suspense genre. His main character is a fine art restorer/Israeli operative named Gabriel Allon. A reluctant assassin, Allon provides a vehicle to explore the corrosive effects of the Israeli/Arab conflict on those who wage it. Torn by what he has done in the name of duty, yet fully committed to fighting the evil of terrorism, haunted by the family he has lost, while reaching out tentatively at a new life, he is a fascinating character. Silva keeps up the pace throughout. I'm looking forward to the latest installment, Moscow Rules.

So I manage to sneak a half hour to go to the library when I spot a title in the stacks, Fresh Kills.
Now for the uninitiated, Fresh Kills is a wetland area in Staten Island, NY which in a supreme twist of irony became home to a landfill so large that it rivaled the Great Wall of China in visibility from outer space. My interest aroused, I pick up the volume and note the author, Bill Loehfelm. Wow, who'da thunk it? Billy Loehfelm published by Putnam. Of course, I turn it over only to find the grown up, head shaven and goateed young man who was once a student and later a teacher at my old stomping grounds. That the cover mentioned "gritty, blue collar Staten Island" just sealed the deal.

I don't know what I expected...I mean he was a smart kid, but.... Anyway, it starts out as a something of a modern noir but as his wise-cracking main character comes to terms with the death of an abusive father, it becomes something larger, harder, and better still, leaving it neither in one camp or the other. This novel tackles the kind of emotional contradictions those in dysfunctional families know well. I enjoyed it, if enjoyed is the word.

On a related note, he captures the essence of the Staten Island in which I grew up, much of it Irish and unostentatious, bordered by bohemian flair of the Northern fringe, and infused with the small town ethos just a hop, skip and jump away from the Big Apple. Those whose perception of the island is limited to Working Girl or MTV won't recognize the place. It is a place and time rapidly disappearing, which lingers in pockets if at all.

Inaugural Ball Invite

Got an invitation to "The Civil Rights Presidential Inaugural Ball” today, not from the party I have supported for decades obviously. No, this one came from the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. What I have done to merit such a distinction, I don't know. Tell you the truth, I'm tempted. What better place to dance the night away and mark the historic occasion?

I'm actually quite touched, but I must send my regrets, not for the reasons you might believe. As a minority myself, I can begin to appreciate what the swearing in of an African-American president means to many, many Americans. In fact, it is the only saving grace of the moment.

No, I must demur because not too far away, there are many, many human beings of African descent who live under conditions that would make the Jim Crow South seem idyllic. Yet I have never ever heard a single African-American Civil Rights organization voice even the slightest protest at the treatment of their brethren in Cuba. As a matter of record, with the exception of Al Sharpton, many of the most strident voices for civil rights in this country, many who denounced Apartheid in South Africa, have served as apologists and/or willing stooges for a regime that oppresses its brothers and sisters.

When the NAACP launches a campaign to publicize the plight of Cuban political prisoners, and the SCLC expresses its solidarity with Elias Biscet, stands in support of Antuñez, Coco Fariñas and others, then I will gladly celebrate their moment of triumph. Until then, I must regretfully decline their gracious invite.

What if?

What if instead of “Bush Takes Parting Swipe at Communist Cuba,” this headline read “Departing President Affirms Support for a Free Cuba.” Then, what if the first paragraph read

not

President George W. Bush took a parting swipe at communist Cuba on Tuesday, saying it was a cruel dictatorship that had responded to U.S. appeals for democratic reform with more repression of its people.

but

President George W. Bush reaffirmed his support for a free Cuba on Tuesday. Referring to a long history of human rights abuses in the island nation, he described the present regime as a cruel dictatorship that has responded to U.S. appeals for democratic reform with more repression of its people.

Later on,

Obama, a Democrat, has pledged to soften restrictions on family travel and remittances but said he would keep the embargo as leverage to influence changes in the one-party state.

He has said he would be ready to pursue diplomacy with Cuba's leaders if conditions were right, something Bush has resisted doing.

could become

He has said he would be ready to pursue diplomacy with Cuba’s leaders if conditions were right, a position maintained by a number or U.S. administrations and repulsed by the regime in Havana.

What a difference a few words can make in this Reuters article by Matt Spetalnick, edited by Eric Beech.

(Corrections and additions in boldface mine.)

A Questionable Monday Turn of Phrase

Ponzi Scheme? Using the Madoff swindle as a starting point, John Stossel gives us a scary glimpse into the future when the largest of the Ponzi schemes is yet to unravel: Social Security and Medicare. To wit, according to the article, the government is simply passing along our current contributions to present retirees. What happens when the boomers retire? Hint: make your own provisions. Read it at Townhall here.

Unintended Consequences? Michael J McFadden, author of Dissecting Antismokers' Brains, writes a letter to the FT which presents a novel response to banning smoking in British pubs, as in banning smoking can be harmful to workers' health. Sounds like a stretch, but here it is.

Pottery Barn Rule? From the New York Times comes an interesting look at the history and perils of the Wedgwood company. The grande old dame of the tabletop world has stumbled financially. For those of us with a sentimental attachment to the company, it's kinda sad. Wish them luck.

Salutary Fare? Also from the Times comes a group of less popular healthful foods. I'll skip the prunes and beets, thank you.

Vague Rumblings? Two items here. First is a follow up to the Yellowstone story here. Then in a truly sad development is the news that one of my heroes is ailing. Jack Kemp is reportedly suffering from cancer. Little more news than that. Read it here.

Meanderings: The Nature of CyberScum

I'm checking my email days ago, when a message from my antivirus pops up. Oh, oh, a trojan is invading one of my files. It is unable to quarantine it. They tell me to do it. Quickly, I turn to get the name of the file. What is the name of the file? What? They give me an eighteenth of the file name followed by an ellipsis. Okay, okay, I highlight it. There it is. I'll just copy it and do a search, then figure out how to quarantine it. No, no, no, it won't copy. Can't do it by hand, the friggin' thing looks like pi. Time is of the essence. I feel it. That little f----er is replicating like f---n' tribbles. I know it.

I try looking it up using half the name. Alas, I have zillions of files with that half, none of which is the infected one. I call my friend, the self-proclaimed computer guru. "Help," I cry. He spends a half hour telling me how hackers dream these things up for fun, because they can. Then he launches into a rumination on the meaning of life, all the time the infection is turning into an outbreak. Finally, he launches into this expedient that has me checking what files are running. He's gotta be kidding. I'm looking at scads of files, some with an exe affixed. I'm not touching those suckers. The real answer he says is to wipe out the computer and reload it all again. Not a chance.

So now I'm contemplating Amicide, or some such (what is the term for the killing of a friend) and speculating on the justice I would like to visit upon the misbegotten offspring of a camp follower and mule train driver who invented the shit. I go to the Help center. God know how many screens later, they send me to the Encyclopedia of Viruses. What are they going to tell me, like "the virus that is killing your computer was first created in Mesopotamia and is credited with wiping out the economy of a small Asian country"? In any case, I don't have the time. I Google the particular variation and find that most of the entries are in French, Italian, and German. Great, I caught a European virus.

Eventually, after much travail and a bit of help, I figure it out and get it contained and cleaned up. But time and again, I'm left to ponder how in the world the computer industry gets away with the type of customer service it provides. If any other industry....

The Che Fallacy: Telling it Like it Is

Because the worlds of journalism, academia and entertainment have failed us, it is left to Cubans and the children of Cubans to tell the world the truth. Today's entry in the "no me lo paso" file comes from Big Hollywood where Joe Lima sets the record straight. Among the more salient passages:

But “Che” fails on a much deeper level. It attempts to depict actual historical events, the effects of which still play out today and affect millions of people. Does the movie tell the truth? It barely even tries. It is in this failure to connect with historic truth that the film sinks from being a mere failure to being an ugly lie.

and

Pre-Revolutionary Cuba is predictably presented in this film as a screamingly poor, fifth-world country. It seems that every other character is illiterate. People who were there remember it differently, and United Nations statistics from the period tell a different story: Cuba was in fact the fourth most literate country in Latin America. “A people that don’t know how to read and write are an easy people to fool,” scolds Del Toro, index finger in the air. Ironic, that, considering how the Castros have always used the written word to fool people in Cuba and all over the world, via surrogates like Anderson, who blandly parrot the official version of Cuban history. Furthermore, the 100% literacy rate that the Cuban government claims to have accomplished is accompanied by 100% censorship of what Cubans are allowed to read, and of what they are allowed to write. Another digression: statistics say that 28 percent of the State of Louisiana is functionally illiterate today. I’d like to ask Steven Soderbergh, whose father was once Dean of the College of Education at Louisiana State University, if the scandal of illiteracy in Louisiana would justify turning Louisiana into a communist dictatorship, shooting all the cops, and compelling teachers to teach the dictatorship’s version of history. Of course, it wouldn’t. But this is precisely the twisted rationale that the Cuban government uses to justify its now fifty-year stranglehold on power.

Read the whole review here.

Must See, Read, and Feel: A Bit of Levity

Cubans in the generic sense, geography be damned, are united in our perhaps unfortunate ability to see humor in even the most awful of situations. So as I sit down to link some good stuff I haven't been able to write about, here's a quartet on the lighter side.

Start with the cartoon posted over at Ms. Calabazas'. Then mosey on over to Babalu for the latest entry in the "People to People" series by Henry Gomez. Round it off by reading the latest "lost episode" of Che's Bolivian diary over at Paco's. And finish up with a course in tourist myopia by Melek over at Cubanology.

Hemingway in Cuba

Yesterday Cuba opened up its Heminway archives, hitherto having been languishing in the basement of his house. Read the article. Over at Babalu Henry reminds us that not too long ago, you, too, could purchase one of Hemingway's possessions for the less than princely sum of $200 dollars. Anyway, recently Humberto Fontova ran across another bit of Hemingway lore, one you are not likely to hear about and which presents...something. In this piece, James Scott Linville is reminscing about an incident with his boss at the Paris Review, George Plimpton. Enthusiastic, Mr. Linville wanted to make use of the recently published Motorcycle Diaries. To his surprise, Mr. Plimpton, noticeably stricken, demurred. He then told the author of an experience he had with Mr. Hemingway in Cuba:

A sad look came over him, and he said, "Years ago, after we'd done the
interview, Papa invited me down again to Cuba." George had done a justifiably famous interview with Ernest Hemingway for the magazine, and usually referred to him as "Papa", as Hemingway had encouraged him to do.

"It was right after the revolution," George continued. One afternoon, Hemingway told him, "There's something you should see." The nature of the expedition was a mystery; Hemingway made a shaker of drinks, daiquiris or whatever. They got in the car with a few others and drove some way out of town. They got out, set up chairs and took out the drinks, as if they were going to watch the sunset. Soon, a truck arrived. This, explained George, was what they'd been waiting for. It came, as Hemingway knew, the same time each day. It stopped and some men with guns got out of it. In the back were a couple of dozen others who were tied up. Prisoners.

The men with guns hustled the others out of the back of the truck, and lined them up. Then they shot them. They put the bodies back into the truck. I said to George something to the effect of "Oh my God."

Meaning, who knows? Article about the Che movie here.

Somewhat Frankly Monday

It was a very bad year. At least that's what this Bloomberg piece informs us, noting that it is probably the worst economy in 70 years. I include it only for recap purposes, as little appears new. In the same vein, on Townhall Bill O'Reilly runs down the list of some of what he learned in 2008. I include this one, because he definitively makes the point that fact-based reporting seems gone.

Not my way. In a variant of the bank, insurance conglomerate, automaker bailout, with municipalities lined up hats in hand, according to this report one Connecticut politician would like to extend a helping hand to local newspapers. Speculation is that the print organs may be next in the queue of mendicants. Not in my name, I say. When they ceased being somewhat fair brokers of information, they lost any right to tax payer support. Perhaps they should petition the Democrats.

I get a kick out of this. In the bibliobriefs department, we have this welcome news that approximately 5 0f the 11 library branches in Philly slated to close have been given a reprieve of sorts. Don't celebrate yet, though. A follow up article in the Inquirer indicates that they will become "learning centers" run by community groups, etc.... Two questions: what were they as libraries and why do they always immediately hit libraries when budgets tighten? I defy anyone to read the comments of parents in the these articles and not realize the incredible value of libraries to at risk youth. Speaking of books, Karl Rove lets us in on a secret, namely, Bush is an avid reader.

Luck is no lady. As politicians, pundits, and the public debate who's to blame, Jim Sollisch over at the WSJ presents a novel villain. Blame it on the home programs, he cries. It's a light-hearted romp with an underlying kernel of truth. All those fix it and flip it programs on HGTV and other channels may have fed into the frenzy. Me, I only redecorated.

The Lady is a character. I like to leave you with an interesting prediction, courtesy of MSNBC, of which comic characters to watch this year. Personally, I never liked the Marvel/DC variety because they never ended a storyline. They make cool movies, though.

(cute, huh; or is that too cute.)

In Which I Take the Media to the Woodshed, Again

Unease has been my companion in the weeks leading to January this year. I knew that it was as inevitable as the night following the day that the 50th anniversary of the Revolution would unleash paeans to the totalitarian regime in the international media. True to form, the resident shills in Havana have pumped out screeds to the “Robolution,” as many Cubans have characterized it, blending the Spanish word for theft into the original. It’s hard to say whether the less than light-hearted word play is intended to convey the betrayal of purported ideals of the revolution as the Cuban populace understood them in 1959- the restoration of democracy chief among them- as in “Que robo,” or “What a beat”; or whether the reference is to the theft of every single scintilla of real property belonging to every single human being on the island and off, as in “I’ve been robbed.”

Whatever the case, even the veteran journalist apologists in Havana have had to tamp down their praise, as the regime has had to tamp down their “celebrations,” ostensibly because of the straitened circumstances as the result of the trio of hurricanes the island has endured. It is interesting to note that the major official celebration in Santiago was closed to ordinary Cubans, those upon whose backs and hopes and freedom the revolution has managed to maintain itself in power in an unending cycle of poverty and repression. Instead, the festivities were limited to 3,000 party apparatchiks. The event, aside from serving as a delicious metaphor for the present state of Cuba, for the gross inequality between the party and the population, lends itself the suggestion that perhaps there is not the will, political or popular, to celebrate the occasion. It seems probable that yet another factor is the hesitancy of the junta to bring together thousands of screaming Cubans to “celebrate” the unconscionable, perhaps more of a wild card to the powers that be than one would suspect.

Because true to form, the message was that there would be yet more struggle to come. There are those that posit that the embargo has maintained the regime, as opposed to Stalinist repression, say. However, it’s all semantics. Revolutions have a beginning and ending. The word revolution is a noun, not a verb. But this revolution is unending, ever exhorting more from its captive population, always on the brink of becoming. As long as it presents itself in this manner, a seemingly eternal struggle, it is not forced to acknowledge reality, namely that this cadre of leaders has dragged the island nation, once the Pearl of the Antilles, into the third world.

You will not pick up on this, the “greatest” achievement of the Castros, reading any of the media reports and editorials. Ignorance, compounded by bigotry, leads to the bruiting of the talking points of the revolution, namely literacy and healthcare. Never a mention that the regime inherited a population with a 70 percent literacy rate and more doctors per capita than in Britain, that Cubans were forced to trade in their freedom, their rights to self-determination, due process and a host of other civil liberties for a ration book. Comparisons are made to Haiti, as if Haiti would ever have been deemed a fit parallel in the 1950’s. Over and over, we are told that the Castroite regime has outlasted 10 US Presidents, as if it were an occasion for praise, instead of the result of lessons learned at the knee of Papa Stalin with pointers from the East German Stasi.

So here’s a little primer for those who pretend to inform the rest of us. There is no Cuban Revolution. It is over, done, finito. It died in 1960, or thereabouts, when Cubans awoke to the nightmare of a half century hangover. What is left is just one more tin pot dictatorship with an attitude and a very good public relations department. So spare me the historical milestone. It should occasion articles on the half century of misery, squalor and repression visited on the Cuban people and nothing else.

Updated: The Regime at 50

Since it is snowing all over the net, as in the mass of media outlets has taken their script for covering the anniversary of the 50 years of dictatorship from Anita Snow, I think it is only fair to highlight some more coverage of the same, coverage that is at once more accurate and a bit different.

On Babalu Dr. Carlos Eire writes:

The ultimate legacy of the Revolution may very well be its utter contempt for Cubans. For half a century now, Cuba’s leaders have strangled all political discourse, poisoning whatever common future all of us Cubans could have hoped for. The Castro regime has not only expelled twenty percent of the population and ripped apart millions of families, but also fanned hatred and intolerance. In the process, the Revolution turned us all into beggars of one sort or another, either in our own homeland or in exile, and bequeathed to us a destitute island prison, part brothel, part work camp, part freak show, where the only way to escape despair –short of suicide-- is to flee, or to become an agent of repression.

Over at Cubanology Jose Reyes makes an interesting point as to what "Cuba" means:

Cuba only stands for Fidel and “his” revolucion, the Cuban people do not really exist, how could they? The average Cuban in Cuba has no opinion at all, that right is not in the vocabulary. Neither are they allowed to leave the country, no visa. They cannot demonstrate against the Castro regime, long prison terms. So it goes without saying, the Castro regime has done nothing for the Cuban people in the last 50 years that would justify and be considered as positive progress.

From Gusano over at La Contra Revolucion, we get a poignant glimpse into the sense of loss that permeates the exile experience.

So I imagined that New Year’s Eve in 1958 and all the hard partying, dancing Cubans sipping Cidra and chomping on grapes totally unaware that the island they were floating on was about to be swallowed up in a whirlpool of change.And little did those that knew what was about to happen imagine that 50 years later the island would still be sinking into that swirling, bottomless abyss.

And in the only media coverage to get it right, this from the Washington Times.

Fifty years ago, on Jan. 1, 1959, Fidel Castro and his guerrilla band took over Cuba, a day after its dictator president, Fulgencio Batista, fled the country when the United States withdrew its support. At the time, Mr. Castro, then 32, painted himself as a sort of Jeffersonian democrat, and he was given a ticker-tape parade in New York and spoke at Harvard. It was not until June 6, 1961, when the liberals' darling acknowledged that he had been a Communist since he was 17 years old.

Update:

RightVoices.com asks the question:

Are the Cubans in this country just a bunch of dumbassess that didn’t realize how good they had it? Andy Garcia must really be an idiot for these statements, I mean hell, he lived it but GMA saw it on TV:

More to come....

Auld Lang Syne

As the closing minutes of 2008 tick down, I'd hazard to guess that decades from now, no one will be singing, "It was 2008. It was a very good year." At least, I know I won't. And yet, there is so much for which to be grateful, or "greatful." Interesting thought, that.

In that spirit, I'd like to wish you all a very happy New Year, ever "grateful" that you have stopped by. So tonight, after you throw out the water and eat your 12 grapes, try this for a fitting coda. I use coda, because if we are all very lucky, we will all be here next year. L'Chaim!

(Please note the politically correct multiculturalism here. Ain't that America?)

Bon Mot of the Day

The story is told that when Emperor Nero became infatuated with a young man, he had the young man castrated so he could later celebrate a "wedding" with the youth, now a eunuch. One of the invitees to the event commented that Rome would have been better served if [Nero's father] had attended his own nuptials in like fashion. Looking around me, I have to think similarly about a certain Spaniard who came to this land...

(Oswaldo Yañez in Havana from this post. In Spanish)

Monday Spaghetti: Of Time and Place

Livin' on the edge. Finally, I don't have to claim boomership. I am officially a cusper like our illustrious soon-to-be president and the potential next senator from Massachusetts. Talk about your trashtalking. Here's a boomer indictment for ya'll. I'm a boomer trasher from way back, myself.

Not quite ready for primetime. Here are not one but two positive Palin stories. First is an interview in which she sounds not stupid but actually well-versed. Second is a pretty incisive piece by Ruben Navarette. He makes the distinction that her appeal was not so much about small town America, as it was about small town American values. Don't know if I'd trust her with the codes quite yet, but she's real people.

Pair of docs. Problem: here's a mixed bag from the Wall Street Journal about the "myths" of Cuba. On the one hand, they acknowledge much of what is wrong, but their solution is not quite what the doctor ordered, methinks. Closer to the crux of the problem is this essay from former Mexican foreign minister Jorge Castañeda, not necessarily one of my favorite people.

Slice of life. Meet the new rules: the same as the old rules. Girls, never ever say "I love you" to a man first. At least that's what this how to on CNN informs us. And Townhall heralds the return of Snowzilla to his Anchorage home. The giant snowman apparently causes much havoc in the neighborhood and the municipal Scrooges have banned him.

My prescient self. Remember the animal Ebola in the Phillipines? Well, the dread disease has broken out in the human population in the Congo once again. Death toll was 11 on the 28th. Its spread is limited by its virulence, as in it liquefies its victims so quickly that outbreaks tend to be more localized. Truly scary. More here. Also in the ticking bomb department comes this report that there have been earthquakes in Yellowstone. As any watcher of disaster movies knows, that is potentially not good. Map here.

Cuba: the End of Enchantment

One of the things that struck me the first time I visited Cuba Nostalgia was the complete mock-up of the facade of the El Encanto at the fete. I was further surprised to find that there was an alumni club of sorts composed of onetime employees of the famous Havana department store. It's as if there were a fraternal order of ex-employees of Macys. I was reminded of this when I stumbled on this Miami Herald article which posits the burning of El Encanto as symbolic of the end of an era. Reading it, a light bulb when on over my head. Suppose someone read it but substituted "Macys" for the original. See how the substitution would change your perception of the following:

[John Smith] said that soon after [the new administration], the store gave the impression of operating normally. But gradually some employees embraced the revolution and some even showed up for work wearing guerrilla fatigues. ["Purification"] or ''ideological cleansing'' committees were set up to weed out employees who were not enthusiastic about the revolution, said [a former employee].

Victims of ["Purification"] committees such as [John Smith] often got additional scrutiny by colleagues and supervisers.

These were just the beginnings of the Big Brother state. I guess that's what amazes me when Americans, particularly artists, applaud a system they would find abhorrent if inflicted on them.

Here I Go A-Wassailing.

Figgy pudding is not my thing, but how about some wassail, straight from my circa 1979 Betty Crocker?

Wassail

1 gallon apple cider
2 teaspoons whole cloves
2 teaspoons allspice
2 three inch sticks cinnamon
half cup sugar
2 oranges, studded with cloves

Heat all ingredients except oranges until boiling; then simmer 20 minutes. Serve in punch bowl with oranges floating. It's good stuff.

Wish You A Merry Christmas!

We wish you a Merry Christmas;
We wish you a Merry Christmas;
We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Good tidings we bring to you and your kin;
Good tidings for Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Oh, bring us a figgy pudding; Oh, bring us a figgy pudding;
Oh, bring us a figgy pudding and a cup of good cheer

We won't go until we get some;
We won't go until we get some;
We won't go until we get some, so bring some out here

We wish you a Merry Christmas;
We wish you a Merry Christmas;
We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

(Now how many of you knew the carol involved a wee bit of blackmail?)

As the Tortilla Turns Ever So Slowly

As Cuba approaches a half century of totalitarian rule, the press seems compelled to mark the occasion. Anita Snow's entry into the lists is surprising in that peeking through the edges of the thing are some truths. In this AP article, she starts, of course, with revolutionary school children in the palace of "the fallen dictator." Does that mean as opposed to the present dictator who followed the previous dictator, I have to wonder. Still, try some of these excerpts for a Snow job.

[The communist government is] a system that may be softening at the edges but appears determined to crush any threat to its grip on power, lest it crumble like its one-time godfather, the Soviet Union.

[The Ladies in White] Each Sunday, these women deliver a muted counterpart to the official cry of "Viva Fidel! Viva la revolucion!" by marching down Quinta Avenida, a busy Havana thoroughfare, each dressed in white and carrying a gladiola, silently demanding the release of their husbands from political imprisonment.

[About the internet] But few of Cuba's 11.2 million people have access to the Internet, and anyway are preoccupied with staying afloat in a sclerotic economy where basics like toilet paper often disappear from store shelves and most people eat meat only a few times each month.

Of course, she does get her history wrong:
Back in the capital, on the other side of Havana Bay, looms the Spanish fortress where Ernesto "Che" Guevara, a top Castro commander, directed executions of several hundred Batista police and army officials accused of torturing and killing opponents.

Please note that it was only murderers and torturers who were executed by Che. What was that about history being written by the victors? Nothing about pregnant women and boys, those who felt betrayed by the revolution they helped to power. And please note that Cuba hasn't executed anyone since the ferry incident, not directly, anyway. There is the question of those who commit suicide in police stations or whither away from neglect and maltreatment in the gulag. But don't forget that there were once 15,000 political prisoners, so what's 219? I'm sure that's a source of comfort to Elias Biscet.

Included also are the requisite testimonials from those who just love the revolution. I can spot her those, although it might have been novel to find a man on the street who didn't think the government was just peachy, because she highlights Elizardo Sanchez and Yoani, giving her the punch line by quoting a post:

That may be another sign of the younger Castro's pragmatic, unshowy style. But blogger Sanchez maintains that the revolution died long ago and needs no birthday bash.

"Let it rest in peace," she wrote in a Dec. 14 posting, "and we will soon begin a new cycle: shorter, less pretentious, more free."

Another AP entry in the retrospective vein is the timeline of "Castro's Cuba." Seems to me it could be expanded a trifle. Like how about the date that Castro promised democratic elections for a start. I'm sure there are lots more dates out there they just somehow missed. Of course, we might have a different view of what constituted "key" developments.

Sunday Drive Bye

By Hook.... The big Cuba news this week was the visit by Russian warships to Cuba (yawn) and the summit of Latin American leaders, including Raul Castro and not including the United States. Not surprisingly, they called for the lifting of the embargo. What they failed to accomplish by fomenting revolution, the Castrian duo seem to have achieved with a mix of propaganda, medical chattel and ideology. Keep an eye on their combined international debt. Paraguay has joined Ecuador in questioning their obligation to pay. Stay tuned...

By Land.... Also in the news, at least in Trinidad was the "successful" surgery of Prime Minister Patrick Manning. Some had questioned why he felt the need to travel to Cuba to undergo the procedure. Didn't Fidel import a Spanish doctor for his treatment. Oh, yeah, that's after the first botched operation, I think.

By the Pricking of my Thumbs.... It was bound to happen. As a recount rife with votes found in car trunks, somehow missed, etc. proceeds Al Franken has taken the lead for the first time in the Minnesota Senate race. It is scary. If the seemingly inevitable happens and residents of Minnesota accept this travesty of an election, they will get the government they deserve. Scary.

By the Waters.... In a sad, but definitive, announcement Florida Police reported that young Adam Walsh was murdered by the longstanding suspect in the case, Ottis Toole. John Walsh, whose life was permanently transformed by the tragedy of his son's murder had long accused Toole of the crime. Toole died in prison on unrelated charges. Read here.

There's Something to be Said for American Cars

What, you say? How can you defend the indefensible? Easy. In fact, it is all too easy to heap disdain on the pariah of the moment. But I would like to submit that for style, comfort, and sheer drive, nothing short of a luxury foreign car beats Detroit's products.

Remember when a car was so much more than a means of locomotion, when cars had flash, pizazz? Guys tinkered with their muscle cars, souped up their Camaros, restored an old Stingray rescued from someone's garage. I can look at a car now and say "Oh, yeah, that's a 1963 Chevy." Granted, sometimes the designers got carried away. Remember the Gremlin? But overall, a set of wheels was a statement. (By the way, have you noticed that engines on new cars are armored against their owners with huge plastic shield bearing placards that read essentially "Do Not Touch"? )

Even with the onset of the K Car and that aesthetic abomination, the minivan, all was not lost. The creative impulse moved into SUV's, a fad I must confess to helping start with my paneled woody Jeep Wagoneer, back in the days when Jeeps were Jeeps and riding in the back seat of one could have perilous implications for siring offspring. I figure that if Al Gore can take credit for creating the internet, I can claim a hand in popularizing the SUV. I wish I could say I gave up SUV's for Lent because I realized they used too much gas and were causing global warming. But I gave them up in the 90's when they became so gussied up that they were trimmed in gold and talked to you, not to mention when I realized that my yearly outlay in gasoline could bring clean water to an entire sub Saharan village.

What to do? For at least a decade, Toyotas, Hondas, Nissans have all looked interchangeable, metallic and misshapen. Boxes to the right, boxes to the left, big boxes, little boxes, hatchback boxes, sedan boxes. You get the picture. And having inflicted an apparently suppurating wound on the Big Three when they were dumping cars below cost on the American market starting in the 70's, they've more than made up the loss with their prices. Even the beetle became a pecuniary butterfly. In short, with the possible exception of Hyundai, foreign car makers ain't giving anything away.

American cars, on the other hand, which had been pretty stodgy and style less for a long while as the public went truck crazy, have quietly begun emerging from their aesthetic torpor. It started with Chrysler and the German Gestapo lookalike, the PT Cruiser, and the Sebring convertible, both which in South Florida turned into the baby boomer equivalent of the Mercury Marquis, if you know what I mean. Then GM got into the game with the new Malibu hatchback, their HR, the stylish, but outlandishly priced, retro looking truck. Dodge is looking up with the Challenger, Charger, even the Caliber. Cars with character.

Now get in any one of the American cars for a drive. What a ride. Man in control. Smooth. No more feeling the earth beneath your feet. Aah. Even the quality seems to have climbed up a bit from its nadir. We have both American and foreign in the family, and both have had their minor glitches.

So I really hope Detroit gets beyond its present difficulties. In addition to losing one of our last remaining industries, the loss of the Big Three would literally change the American landscape, leaving us that much poorer in a world full of boring, utilitarian, virtuous high mileage transportation.

Blue Ribbon Miller, Pinheads, and Ellis Island au Sud

Dennis Miller earns a place in the truth teller column on left for placing Fidel Castro on his Top 10 Pinheads of the Year. Fidel's faux pas? Refusing to die. Sounds harsh, but tonight on The O'Reilly Factor, it was a relief to see two television personalities discussing Fidel with the mutual understanding that he is a bad actor. I almost spilled my coffee when it came on. Watch it here. Bravo.

Bravo also to the Miami Herald Tribune for including in its retrospective of 50 years of revolution a searchable database of those who came on the freedom flights from Cuba. Now I understand how my Italian and Irish friends felt when they went to Ellis Island and looked up their forbears. Gives one a sense of roots and legitimacy somehow.

H/T Robert

Quote for All Seasons

One of my pet peeves has to do with the constant touting of literacy and healthcare in Cuba. Naifs are impressed because they assume that Cubans lived on a par with third world countries before the great and glorious revolution. Well, here is one fact at least to innoculate you.

On the plus side, Cuba has a 99.8 percent adult literacy rate, one percent higher than Trinidad and Tobago's, and an infant mortality rate of six per 1,000 people, slightly lower than Chile's, according to the United Nations' 2008 Human Development Report. That makes it the country with the best adult literacy and infant mortality rates in the region.

But according to the U.N. 1957 Statistical Yearbook, Cuba already ranked among the four most advanced Latin American countries in literacy and caloric consumption rates that year, and had the lowest infant mortality in the region. In other words, Cuba has gone up three places in the literacy ranking, while retaining its status as the nation with the region's lowest infant mortality rates.

Read the rest of the Oppenheimer piece in the Miami Herald here. For another look at the Revolution fifty years on, try this one by Frances Robles. I may not agree with everything he includes, but much of what he writes is spot on. In particular, note the decay of the early "grand and glorious" achievements.

Sunday after Sunday after Sunday

Yesterday. Today's first entry is by Jay Nordlinger on NRO who gives us something of the feel of a sit down with still President Bush in a wide ranging report. The glimpse of the man behind the President, particularly now that he is so removed, is fascinating. It's easy to see that he feels he's been true, however he is judged.

Light. The cover story of Newsweek magazine on the Biblical basis for gay marriage has been causing quite a stir. What is surprising is Newsweek's response. As Mark Hemingway highlights in this, the magazine is openly taking a position. Personally, I think we ought to issue Certificates of Cohabitation to everyone intending a long term relationship, not necessarily romantic in nature. Leave marriage to churches and the like. At least that's my thought of the moment.

Fool. Next up is Jackson Browne who is still suing the McCain campaign for using some of his stuff during the campaign. McCain is trotting out the old Fair Use. The Townhall piece by Carl Horowitz has a pretty good explanation of "fair use," as well as a few choice descriptives for Browne to which I could add a few others based on the imbecility of his latest attempt at Cubawash. Double shame on him.

Dust. Seems the worship of idols is not a new thing in Cuba. An article on National Geographic informs us that imported materials were used to fashion idols for the elite in preHispanic times. Gee, the more things change the more they stay the same. Actually, it's interesting.

Death. The following headline is likely to scare the bejesus out of you. Fear not, kinda. The Ebola virus found in pigs in the Philippines is the Reston variety. Reminds me of a great nonfiction book, The Hot Zone, which contains everything you'll ever want to know about Ebola. Bad news, though, is that the variant which had not previously appeared in pigs apparently jumped species.

Meanderings: The Spirit of Christmas Present

This year, I resolved there would be no festive lights, no Christmas tree, no holiday baking, and the minimal amount of cheerful presents. It's not difficult really to essentially cancel Christmas since I'm the only one who decorates, bakes, shops. Now, I could make a case that it is a somber holiday. My dad died on Christmas Eve. I went ahead with Noche Buena anyway. He would have approved. And although illness clouds this approaching eve, that's not it either.

"So, Mom, are you watching your sappy Christmas movies yet?" my daughter asks over the phone.

"No," I reply. "That's for people who celebrate Christmas." She was referring to one of my favorite holiday pastimes, watching a syrupy, soupy Christmas movie a night for the month of December. Truth is, I love it. I come by it honestly. My Dad was crazy about Christmas. For a variety of reasons, he had missed out growing up. My mother used to call him "el niño sin infancia," or the boy without a childhood. Well, he made up for it.

Every year, we would pile in whatever Pontiac he had at the moment and head up to Manhattan to get our tree. It had to be a real one, the kind that smelled and had to be fed aspirin and wound up dropping aromatic needles everywhere. In the dark, we would barter and buy under the old West Side Highway, where trees were chosen the by the glow of light bulbs strung on props of wood. The purchase always entailed great debate as to whether it was too scrawny, too tall for the ceiling, too expensive. Into the night, we would drive with our trophy firmly tied to the roof.

Invariably, when we got home, it would be too tall or crooked or some other condition that necessitated cutting the base. A saw borrowed from some place, as we lived in a Brooklyn tenement, tree firmly in its base, it would begin. Dad's responsibility was stringing the lights. This, he turned into a ritual which required the most careful of placement. First, however, they had to be tried because inevitably one of the little lights would be blown and the string would be out. He would examine each twinkle bulb carefully, as if anyone could tell which one was out. Then he would change bulb after bulb until he hit the right one. His solemn charge accomplished, he would relinquish the tree to the colorful ministrations of my Mom and myself. The toys under the tree Christmas morning, however, had to be wrested away from him so that I could play.

As fate would have it, the hubster was by geography and personal circumstance similarly Christmas-challenged. But where my Dad threw himself into the process, hubby scoffs and scoffs and scoffs. For 30 years now, I have been dragging the man, kvetching, across the Christmas finish line. One year, his daughter gave him the soundtrack to The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. Talk about your pointed presents. Let me tell you, there is nothing more depressing in a in a one horse open sleigh than someone complaining all the way. No mas. The man doesn't like Christmas. We won't celebrate it.

And so it was that last night for the first time this year, I was innocently channel surfing and stumbled upon a movie, not just any movie either. The plot was something about an accountant who magically transforms a bunch of homeless men into a choir, etc.... It could have been any one of a hundred made for TV holiday movies. I felt it. I realized the true spirit of Christmas: for one shining moment in time, in the midst of darkness and winter, we recapture the color and light of childhood, the wonder, the magic. The most potent magic, I think, is the possibility of goodness, our own and that of others. That's what Christmas is all about.

And as for me, don't despair. When I couldn't tamp down my desire to decorate. I gift wrapped the paintings in the living room in a somber pewter and gray paper with black ribbon. I did put a white poinsettia on them. I took out Dad's soft and cuddly Santa Doll and put it on my night table. And as I write, maybe I'm wearing red ornament earrings.

Funny thing is that somewhere across the years, that Grinch heart must have started growing ever so slightly, nearly approaching the size of a human one. Many a reference to the lack of decorations around the old homestead and even a joking accusation of laziness have been made. There have been a few false starts to string lights on the house. The other evening, we wound up at a local shopping area to see the lights. For half a minute tonight, going to see the Christmas parade on Main Street was a possibility. Who knows, by the time this season is over, maybe there will be joy in Whoville. Doesn't really matter though, because one thing I've discovered in the year with no tree is that I carry Christmas in my heart. Every thing else is really window dressing.

Celestial Thoughts

Get those telescopes out! Actually, you don't need one. During the month of December, Venus, Jupiter, and the Moon, as well as a dash of Mercury will be the closest to the Earth they'll be in a long time. When you look up at the sky right about now, the brighter higher "star" will be Venus;the less bright, Jupiter. Over the course of the month Venus will get higher in the sky and jupiter lower. I think I've got it correctly. In any case, the Moon is huge because it is so close. The amateur astronomers association explains it here, kinda.

I Blog; Therefore I Am: Yoani's World

Visit Yuca Baby for an enlightening post about Yoani Sanchez, Cuban blogger. I've posted about her difficulties before and her courage. You can watch her question Mariela Castro Espin (her father is Castro II) about extending the tolerance to different ideological and political opinions that Mariela is seeking for sexual preference. The Yuca Baby post also links to Yoani's website in English. Read the one about Christmas trees and you'll understand why she has won international awards. There is also a video, taken at a clandestine and apolitical gathering of Cuban bloggers. It is in Spanish, but there is a translation of the ending, a call to action to all bloggers, a plea for solidarity with the "embryonic" Cuban blogosphere:

I would like, with this message, which I send like a letter in a bottle thrown at sea for all the bloggers of the world, to say that yes, we exist, we need your help, we need technological knowledge, bibliographies, ideas for how to overcome censorship, and above all, support and solidarity. So that we don't feel as if we are alone, so that we may leap over that hoop, that wall of control that moves around us. To open some cracks {in that wall}, and, someday, perhaps one that is not so far away, dynamite it.

God bless.

A Post of Two Headlines

An earlier post highlighted the pernicious effects of naive or cynical reporting, to wit- the AP article. Well, the Miami Herald, which newspaper more than any other in the world should be aware of the trampling of human rights in Cuba, picked up the Anita Snow story online... with headline intact:

Foreign Minister: Cuba can be Proud of its Rights Record

Contrast that to the AFP story posted on NASDAQ:

Cuba Defends Rights Records; Opposition Denounces Arrests

Now which of the two is more accurate? It is bad enough that the AP chooses to publish this tripe, but that the Miami Herald should propagate it is beyond all belief. One is left to surmise that A) the Miami Herald believes that the hundreds of thousands of Cuban exiles who came to these shores with only the shirts of their backs are liars, B) the management of the Miami Herald has such an antipathy toward Cubans that it is willing to perpetuate what it knows to be a misleading story, or C) the organization is so slipshod in its journalism that it publishes said story. As far as I can see, their is no alternative.

On the Harmful Effects of Snow

On this day, when numbers of planned observances of International Human Rights Day were short-circuited by the regime which beat some, threatened more, detained some, corralled others in their homes, a day when 32 Ladies in White managed to march in front the Capitol in Havana, demanding freedom and distributing copies of the Declaration of Human Rights, things in the socialist paradise being so bleak that citizens don't know they have any inherent rights, Anita Snow files an article, which despite mentions of the ladies and the remarks of the Commerce Secretary, is essentially an open platform for Foreign Minister Felipe Perez Roque to declaim that, despite some "imperfections' Cuba can be "proud" of how it has treated its people. After all, you won't find any children squeeging windshields he maintains.

So what is the problem? The problem is that the unknowing peruse the headlines and are left to think that Cuba treats its people well. After all, if it weren't true, AP wouldn't let it leave uncontested, would they? Must be those nasty robber baron exiles in Miami making up lies. Now, if they are really interested and read the article, they are only a little better off. They are left with the impression that things in Cuba are not that bad. Other than a nice and sanitary reference to "political prisoners," there is no light shed on the most oppressive of States in the Western Hemisphere. No recognition that failing to toe the party line can result in charges of "pre-criminal dangerousness" and imprisonment, no mention of the lack of true due process. No allusion to Oscar Biscet's original 4 by 5 cell where he lived in the darkness with only a hole for his sanitary needs, no description of the conditions that cause the aforementioned political prisoners to go on hunger strikes and sew their mouths shut in desperation. No hat tip to the death sentence by malevolent neglect, the refusal of medical care, ad inifinitum.

There is no acknowledgement of an atmosphere of fear, in which your neighbors in the CDR are encharged with spying on you, dragging you out to vote where the outcome is a foregone conclusion, and rabbles are choreographed to harass, threaten and beat dissidents. Streets where he whose name may not be uttered is indicated with a gesture denoting a beard. It is a place where information is so strictly controlled that citizens may not have internet access and private individuals at great personal peril create impromptu libraries with tourist castoffs and prerevolutionary relics, the only free and unfettered reading material on the island.

This article which presents the pretty words of the regime with no qualifications essentially maintains that his spew is true. It not only does harm to the Cuban people whose plight remains unreported; it also does a disservice to its readers, particularly in the United States; and on this day in particular its business as usual focus is a disgrace.

Contrast that with the article by Sara Miller Llana in the Christian Science Monitor which details the beating of Belinda Salas Tapanes. I was wrong in my earlier post on Babalu: at least one reporter cared.

Light Blogging

Sorry, I haven't been able to devote the time: "pasando la Niagara en bicicleta," as they say. I shall return.

Quote for the Day

This from the Sowell column reminds me so much of those who pontificate about Cuba with little or no thought to the lot of ordinary citizens.

The essence of bigotry is refusing to others the rights that you demand for yourself. Such bigotry is inherently incompatible with freedom, even though many on the Left would be shocked to be considered opposed to freedom.

Sunday Sermons of a Sort

Ask not.... Let's start with this Thomas Sowell piece on the NRO. Sowell is one the true thinkers in the world of commentary. In this, he opposes mandatory "community service" as an erosion of freedom. Made me stop, particularly when he changes the community to "military." He's right, folks, I think.

He who steals money..... Apparently, the sweetness and light of community service does not lend itself to building ethics in the aforesaid population. The buzz this week was about a study which indicated that American teens are liars and cheats, kinda. A veteran catcher of encyclopedic hands and verbally enhanced skirt hems, I didn't need a study to tell me that. Anyway, this article at Breitbart raises a truly scary point: this is the next generation of American workers. Nuclear plants, anyone?

The rumors of my demise.... I'm taking this next Jason Lee Steorts NRO column out of context for its methodical examination of Bush Derangement Syndrome. I think he's got it right. Bush has been vilified and has seemed unwilling or unable to counter the scurrilous attacks. Still can't figure out his reticence now. Is it pique?

What does not destroy me..... In a version of my worst nightmare, a planeload of passengers from El Salvador were diverted to Ontario where they were kept on the tarmac for nine hours, read it, nine. I would sue for mental distress, that is when they released me from jail for inciting a riot. Unconscionable. Read it here.

Most folks are as happy..... Let's finish off on the bright side. Happiness is contagious according to a study published in a British Medical journal. Surrounding yourself with happy people apparently lends to your own contentment. Although I'm familiar with the opposite, having a number of toxic relations, I'd never thought of the converse. Smile.

For an added bonus, complete the quote, identify the author/speaker, and I promise to be impressed. Happy Sunday.

More Embargo Speak

As I posted over on Babalu, this week's New York Times Magazine carries a beautiful article on the end of the revolution by Roger Cohen. Of course, some of the material is objectionable, most notably the call for a new approach to US/Cuban relations. It is a call echoed by the author of Bacardi and the Long Fight for Cuba when pressed for his views in an NPR interview.

The calls for the lifting of the embargo et al are reaching a critical mass. Misled by ill-informed and/or ideologically motivated academics and "journalists" the American public wants to make money(Ha) and benefit from a cheap vacation in the land time forgot like the rest of the world. Labeled as a "hard-line,""intransigent" "Mafia" of would be "Ahmed Chalabis," those of us who have witnessed or felt the impact of the evil of the Castro regime seem to be losing the PR war.

Thus, my crystal ball says there will be an attempt made to normalize relations. I write attempt because every time the US has attempted to thaw relations the Cuban regime has thrown a spike in the works. Ask Jimmy Carter. The truth is that the thugocracy needs the embargo, because it needs an excuse for the decimation of an country. In any case, it behooves us to regroup, to frame the discussion on our terms if we are to avoid handing murders, thieves and liars a blank check to continue looting and oppressing. And I am not exaggerating when I use those words.

The Embargo and the Enablers du Jour

The calls to end the embargo multiply daily. One might almost think they were orchestrated. In today’s installment a number of business organizations, including the American Farm Bureau Federation, Business Roundtable, U.S. Chamber of Commerce, National Retail Federation and Grocery Manufacturers Association, urged the President to be to lift the embargo, as these commercial potentates feel qualified to make foreign policy judgments. Lifting the remittances is fine by them, but could you please scoot over and leave a bit more room for that persistent camel.

Their motivation, only partially cloaked by altruism, is greed. Now greed is not necessarily a bad thing, but stupidity is always. If I’ve got this correctly, they wish to be free to do business with a government that has made an avocation of not paying its debts to the tune of 60 billion and five decades with a citizenry so impoverished that it can not afford American goods. (After all there are limits to even Tia Lola’s largess.) Maybe the thinking is that the ability to sell cigars, rum, and quack remedies to the American public will enrich the coffers of the Havana Dons thereby releasing rivulets of Cuban Class B currency to the populace, enabling a citizen to buy, say, one Nike sneaker a year. If these are our great business minds, it is not surprising that the heads of the big 3 are in DC on bended knee.

Of course, they could be positioning themselves for the day when Cuba once again rejoins the world of functioning economies, a prospect set back that much further by supplying an economic lifeline now. They seem to have forgotten the little matter of the unpaid millions, 2 billion approx, owed American companies and private citizens for expropriated property. I won’t mention the poor, benighted political prisoners. No one else does.

Mark my words; by the time this lunacy runs its course, Obama will be lifting the embargo by public acclaim. But then, heck, what do I know?

Cuban Music and Change

As I'm reading Time magazine, I come across it. "The Sound of Change: Can Music Save Cuba" blares the headline. Of course, the accompanying article devotes little to that topic. Actually, here a few of the more notable observations made by Thornburgh:

1. Music in Cuba, as well as the island itself, is changing. Movements from outside the country like reggaeton and techno are infiltrating. Musicians are fleeing the country.

2. People are feverishly hopeful of change, pinning their hopes on the Obama administration.

3. There are a number of "Ahmed Chalabis" in Miami waiting to take over should the government fall.

4. The big, bad United States lures with the "murderous enticement" of Wet Foot/Dry Foot.

5. Younger generations of Cubans on both sides of the Gulf are more willing to forgive and forget.

The value of the article is in the slice of life about Cuba. Mr. Thornburgh to his credit goes beyond the facade of the socialist paradise and writes about real people. He demonstrates a certain familiarity with the reality of life in Cuba. Unfortunately, he presents a one-sided view of the United States' role, and there really is no need to guess which side. Yet more evidence the regime has trashed a nation but won the propaganda wars.

The Blogger and the Bad Man

In the past two days, Cuban Blogger Yoani Sanchez of Generación Y was summoned to the Police Station in Vedado where she was read the riot act and told in no uncertain terms that a proposed blogger meet up was to be cancelled. She was further threatened that she had transgressed all limits. With incredible courage and characteristic insouciance, Yoani asked for it all in writing, laughingly calling her wouldbe intimidators "cowards" at their failure to do so.

Her situation, however, is no laughing matter. The Cuban government's apparatus of intimidation is putting her on notice. They are watching and will act. Publicity provides her only protection, such as it is. In the interest of providing as much information as possible, I've translated her last two entries. Read them and spread the word as much as possible.

A Fowl Story

One of the rituals at holiday family gatherings invariably involves the “do you remember the time that…?” It was in this context that my father-in-law raised a European trip we took in the early 80’s. We met up in Rome and traveled to Yugoslavia. Even as we argued about the city: was it Split? Srebenica? Zadar? I knew where he was heading.

“Yes,” I replied. It was Split, I think. We arrived in the city, and there was literally no room at the inn. A visit to the local tourist bureau procured us lodgings in private homes. My father-in-law drew the 50’s vintage ranch house on the outskirts of the city. My husband, sister-in-law, and I found ourselves in front of the massive wooden door to a townhouse in the starigrad, or old city, read that medieval walled city. I swear that door swung, whisper silent, of its own accord. Standing there awaiting us, beckoning us in with a red manicured digit was a tall, spare, austere-looking, middle-aged woman who spoke English hesitantly and with an accent like that of a female Boris Karloff. Her jet black hair was drawn back in a bun; her thin lips, outlined in bright red. There was something terribly witchlike about her.

Despite our initial misgivings, she turned out to be a very nice, if unnerving, woman. We were renting a room in her apartment which consisted of the top floor of the building and a rooftop/garret/pigeon coop. At some point during our brief stay, she told me, “This was all ours once. It was one house. It belonged to my father. But they took it away and left me with this,” indicating the flat crammed with family heirlooms. This I understood. Suddenly, I had visions of that scene in Doctor Zhivago when Omar Sharif returns to find the rabble inhabiting the old homestead and his family barricaded in a few rooms.

“She got that back, now, you know.” My father-in-law interrupted. “They all got that back.” Apparently, the property that had been appropriated by the government was returned when Yugoslavia broke up and the resulting Republic opted for democracy. How wonderful, I thought. The balance of that woman’s universe had been restored. It made me sad, too, because I couldn’t foresee such an ending for Cuba. It’s not about property, as much as it’s about the acknowledgement that a wrong had been committed, a patrimony stolen. As Anita Snow revels in her opinion that Obama is free to collaborate with the Havana Dons, I wonder whether it's an acknowledgment we’ll ever get or whether we are expected to collude in the denial of our own reality.

Not Quite Sunday Not Quite Information

Storing it. A long, long time ago when I was in college, I was taught a few things like the answer to energy needs was nuclear fusion which was just around the corner in the next twenty years. That's what they're still saying. Ditto for batteries. The discussion of the limitations of same in this Newsweek article by Keith Naughton seem awfully familiar. Lots of "green" technologies depend on batteries- from alternative fuel cars to solar collection. Good news, they're working on it.

Selling it. For the first time ever, online shopping seems primed to drop this holiday season, according to this Wall Street Journal article. If online business follows the brick and mortar variety, I suspicion it may yet show a resurgence. Call me an optimist.

Stealing it. From Silicon.com comes "The Spam Report" in which Will Sturgeon answers the perennial question of what would happen if it you bit into one of those Nigerian-come-into-money scams. The story of his correspondence with Mr. Madu Frank is an amusing one. Not amusing are the poor unfortunates who fall for it. Read it here.

Losing it. The emasculation of our society may be more than figurative. Came across an article, which I lost, that the number of males is declining. Suspected are toxins in the environment. Seems the Canadians are going to run a documentary on "The Disappearing Male" this month. The rest of us will have to wait with bated breath for more info.

Leaving it. Burt Prelutsky waxes eloquent on the topic of public libraries, singling out Andrew Carnegie for endowing them. Given that the guy was not only a philanthropist but saved the economy on at least one occasion, he must've been a pretty nice guy for a robber baron. As to libraries, Prelutsky mentions his own experience as a boy; Colin Powell has shared his. There are numerous testimonials to their value. So why are they the first cut when budget shortfalls threaten?

Road Trip! Road Trip!

Haven't been posting much, getting ready for one of my favorite undertakings. Unfortunately, two things have been getting in the way. I'm tired. Blame it all on Ms. Calabaza, or maybe some of it, for posting an absolutely beautiful picture of a Pumpkin Flan. "A Pumpkin Flan?" I asked myself. Somewhere in the dim mists of time, I had a vague recollection that such a thing existed. What a great metaphor for the joining of my Cuban roots and my American life, I thought. But why stop there? Seized by an paroxysm of domesticity, I decided to make...Pecan Tassies. Yes, the sinful, ever tasty tassies. Mine are like little Pecan Pies, although I confess that they are the only good cookies I know how to make.

So I enlist Mama's aid in making four dozen dough cups for the filling, although I miscalculate and wind up with three dozen, a third of them rather fat. Still they pass the taste test. Not content to rest upon my laurels, I take on the Pumpkin Flan. By the way, the recipe is divine, kinda like a spice cake with a flan consistency. Of course, never having made a flan in my life, I had a syrup malfunction.

Next came the mad scramble for laundry, ironing, packing, and liberation. After 30 years of marriage, I forced the hubster to get his own clothes ready. That's right, that's right. The man had to decide what he was going to wear for the next few days and set it aside. In the interests of sartorial safety, I did the packing. My clothes are in there, too.

So as I set off for work to be followed by a marathon drive, I'll wish you all a happy holiday in case. If I'm lucky, there will be some tassies left and I'll remember to pull the flan out of the fridge. But only if I'm lucky.

In-friggin-credible Expanded and Expounded Twice

This abomination, ostensibly a statue of a mime pretending to be Che, is in New York's Central Park. Can you imagine a statue of Hitler, or Stalin, or even a Grand Wizard of the KKK in the same location? Of course not. Yet this statue to a racist, homophobic, mass murderer is gracing New York's signature park. Babalu has contact information here.

H/T Maggie at PatDollard.com

Updates: There will be more.

Thanks to Jack Kemp, not the politician, on The American Thinker for what is inscribed on the base of the idol:

The base of the Che statue has some interesting things written on 3 sides. One side has a website address www.elchevive.org ("the Che lives" in Spanish) which is no longer accessible via the internet. Another side says "viva la re-revolution," i.e., long live the re (or new) revolution, in Spanish. The third side says "Seamos Realistes Exijamos Lo impossible." This translates as "We are realistic. We demand the impossible."

As he points out, the two other statues in the exhibit bear no such legends.

Then Jose Reyes over at Cubanology has responded via an essay which includes a chilling video. Watch it and see if it sounds familiar. Thank you, Jose.

And at the American Thinker, Humberto Fontova points out that had it been up to their immortalized idol, Central Park would now be working on its half life, devoid of any of the human kind.

Sunday Hobby Horses and More

Roly Poly. From Coop's Corner, an article about Rupert Murdoch's take on the news biz. Basically, he says that the days of a handful of editors deciding what was news from their perch on high are gone. He is still optimistic about newspapers, though, as long as readers feel that it is news they can "trust." Personally, I think he overrates the intelligence of the public.

Red Light, Green Light. On Fox Business, Neil Cavuto raises the big problem with the bailouts, past and proposed: "we neither demanded banks lend, nor auto companies account." It's more business as usual, including the screwing of the taxpayer.

Old Maid. Living in an nanny state is no fun at all. Gregory Katz in a My Way article informs us Britain is contemplating doing away with happy hour. Too many stiff upper lips and diseased livers. Poor blighters can't smoke, eat, and now drink. Look in the mirror, oh, my brothers.

War. Well, the Brits got one thing right. According to a doctor who treated Herr Hitler for a WWI injury, der Furher was testicularly impaired, didn't have a matched set. Somehow that falls under TMI.

Go Fish. If you want to see a National Geographic video marking Cuba's selection by the World Wildlife Federation as an example of sustainable development click here. I kid you not. Anyway, the video is really pretty, as is the rosy picture they paint of a country where the overriding concern every morning is where to get your daily bread. I only wish such sustainable development on each and every one of these eco-idiots. Clueless.

Telephone. Amazingly, according to this, a movie with no sex, violence or stars had a massive opening. The movie in question is based of Lisa Meyers' bestselling Twilight, a pretty cool read better suited to adolescents. Based on the trailer, I don't have high hopes for the treatment. Besides, as I remember the book, there was violence galore. Night, night.