Io Saturnalia!

Amici et amicae, I want to take a brief moment on this fourth day of Saturnalia to once again wish you a happy round of winter festivities.  Tonight being the start of winter, it seems an especially auspicious time to both commemorate and briefly contemplate this end of year season.  In cosmic terms, of course, the eccentricity of the Earth's rotation is a relatively minor affair, and indeed even on our own sphere its significance is hardly universal (Southern hemisphere shoutout!)

Ain't no party like a Saturnalia party

Of course, pedantry about astronomical phenomena is never a good reason to call off  a party.  And I am in favor of any occassion that serves as a reminder  that every darkness must fade again into light.  Judging from the Christmas lights I can see from my window, most of my neighbors are in agreement with this sentiment.  Yet being the pagan that I am, there is something I find particularly attractive about Saturnalia.  Christmas (and its Hallmark-approved compatriot, Hanukkah) seem to me at least to be about the affirmation of the world order.  Insofar as there is anything out of the ordinary in these stories, it comes from the intervention of the divine into the human sphere through miracles and portents to right wrongs and put everything back on track for the divine plan.   Saturnalia, by contrast, was the time when all convention and order were overthrown.  Beggars became kings, masters waited on slaves, and drunkenness and carousing were the general rule.  

Say what you like, your family holiday get-togethers are probably still better than the Caesar's

There is something valuable, I think, about throwing our norms and seeing how much of the order we live by depends on convention.  If nothing else, it might serve as a nice bit of perspective for the high and mighty to see how the other half lives for a time.  Certainly, given the human propensity for being blind to one's own circumstances, perhaps it is too much to hope that one holiday can produce such a big change.  At the very least, though, something to ponder while we wait through the night for the dawn.  

Friday Odds & Sods Goes Home Again

Dear Reader, as we approach the darkest night of the year, now is the time to rally around our loved ones be they near or far and await the return of sunnier days. Your Interlocutor has heeded this advice, leaving the gloomy confines of the Metropolis for warmer and sunnier climes.   My sincerest hopes that you, too, will soon be in the company of those that you love and enjoying this week's Odds & Sods.

• For fans of music from the American South, the arrival of the Oxford American's music will be a nice holiday treat.  This year's issue covers the music of Texas and some of the articles have already been posted online. 
• This weeks reading list concerns itself with faith, or perhaps more accurately belief in things unseen: The hard lot of saints in the early 20th century and the use and abuse of the idea of repressed memories.  
• An amusement that can make killing time a much more colorful experience 
• For this weeks musical number, a collaboration between Messrs. Crosby & Armstrong:

Friday Odds & Sods is Bundled Up

The first snow of the year has come and thankfully gone here in the Metropolis, leaving behind only a few puddles and pleasant memories of snow falling in front of streetlights.  A good reminder of the rapid approach of another winter and with it the end of another year. Still, though, let us not rush through the rest of 2014 simply in order to more quickly reach '15!  Savor these dying days of the year with this weeks Odds & Sods

• For your weekend reading pleasure, the pictorial evolution of an anti-semitic trope, how humans became urban animals, and proof that it is never too late to turn over a new leaf.
• An interesting website showing where, how, and in what number the British married in 2014.
• Longtime readers will of course know of your host's love affair with Greek philosophy. If anyone needs to bone up on their Attic, I've found a handy resource to do just that.
• And finally, a song for those dreaming of warmer days:

Friday Odds & Sods is Out the Chute and Bucking Hard

A thought occurred to me the other day in the vicinity of Union Square, where I was sipping coffee and waiting for a second party to rendezvous, an activity that seems to occupy many of my waking hourss: How much of a life does anybody actually live?  Consider how many mundane moments of a day are passed over in a haze and linger for hardly an instant in the memory before disappearing forever.  How much of life is the biological and social processes that sustain us and how much is the awareness of ourselves and the surroundings we are in?

• Some reading this weekend for the classic movie fan (or obsessive?): The relentless pursuit of a rare Godard film and a first look review of the top film of 1977
• As a proud philhellene, I've for a long while had a passing awareness of the bull-jumping cult of ancient Crete.  What the frescos of Knossos don't depict, of course, are the gorings and scars that such a practice must inevitably have produced.  One wonders what, in 2,000 years time, our descendants will make of the practice of junior rodeos
• A song for February that works, I think, just as well at this point in December

Friday Odds & Sods Was Up at Four Today for a PS4

As another celebration of Black Friday winds to an end, one hopes that the great gods of commerce have had their thirst slaked for another year.  Despite the cynical displays of consumption soon to grace the evening news, may I be allowed to admit that I still harbour some affection for the notion of giving thanks itself?  In our days of continuous wanting and continuous dissatisfaction, it is always nice to acknowledge how much that we do have and just how little it is one needs to be happy.  In that spirit, then, accept the following as a Thanksgiving helping of Friday Odds & Sods

• To begin, two articles to provide some context on the recent festivities, an overview of the political machinations of the Pequot and how Thanksgiving became a national holiday.
• In articles of the non-holiday nature, an account of the failure of international development to actually develop and an elegy for a fallen retail empire, and a mysterious Texas self-immolation.
• Finally, a song about the pleasure of both arriving to your destination and departing:

Friday Odds & Sods Rocks and Rolls All Nights, Parties When Able

Another week draws to an end, and with it, I hope, the end of the illness under which your poor correspondent has been suffering.  Plenty of green tea and bed rests have left me with only a sore throat, and I hope that by next week I will once again be the picture of good health.  In which case, dear reader, you may hopefully expect more postings as my body and mind both finally make the adjustment into winter.  But for now, let us leave the future to the future and turn to the present with this week's Friday Odds & Sods.

• For weekend reading, a story about bullies, con artists, and the Swiss boarding school that produced them and an examination of the sometimes revolutionary history of the much maligned Times Style section.
• If looking for something to do this weekend, allow me as a philhellene to recommend this exhibit at NYU documenting the history of the Greeks in Egypt.
• Longtime readers will remember the recommendation to check out The Great War series on YouTube, where the course of World War One is recorded week by week. I know pass along a story I heard there of Gunther Plüschow, the only man in either world war to escape from a POW camp in England.
• Speaking of heroic men, a recording of Robert Frost reading his poetry.
• Finally, a song for your Sunday morning, the only example, at least that I know of, of throat singing in America.  A bit odd at first, but I find that it grows on you.  

Friday Odds & Sods Throws the Bums Out

Another election come and gone, and your humble correspondent is reminded of a certain anthem of the 1970s.  Indeed, this has been a week of changes that feel significant but in the end are less than they appear.  For instance, Daylight Savings time is officially over and tout le monde complains of the grogginess and darkness that ensues.  Yet in another few months, will not the same people be complaining in the exact opposite vein as we spring forward versus falling back?  And so it goes.  As an officially licensed gallipot, I advise foregoing worry on such matters, and instead turning to this weeks Odds & Sods

• The New Yorker with what I consider the definitive take on Tuesday's happenings
• Speaking of sociopaths, a very interesting article about the Spahn Ranch, the semi-abandoned Western set that became the Manson Family hideaway
• Your humble is leaving the confines of the Metropolis today for a journey to the vast expanse known as Upstate.  While I generally consider myself a dazzling urbanite, there is something to be said for apple cider and turning leaves.  And of course, beer
• Finally, a song that, while a little rustic, I find very appropriately autumnal

Friday Odds & Sods is Spooky, Scary

Halloween has always been my favorite holiday, both for it's pagan combination of fear of death and respect for those of us who have gone on before, and also for how this time of sacred contemplation has been turned into an orgy of candy consumption and sexy pizza costumes.  To appropriately honor, at least in my own mind, such a melange of the terrifying and the trite, I present a very special FO&S, a list of my favorite spooky songs, perfect for your Halloween Punk Party:

1.  A song celebrating the rare meeting of Judaism and Halloween:

  
2.  Continuing on a werewolf theme, the best 80s song about ordering Chinese food while being a rampaging hell beast:  

3.  This particular track is a must, if only because I had every Egon Spengler action figure growing up

4.  Moving away from pop for a moment, something in a more folky vein about a local legend near my old homestead.  

5. And finally, what Halloween play list complete without a little Timewarp?

Friday Odds & Sods Is Sober As A Judge

As my first week as a guardian of law and order comes to a close, I am delighted to report that the Metropolis remains protected from the depredations of the criminal underworld. Of course, I scheduled this post to go up last night, so right now I am probably still in court, and events could be transpiring to make a mockery of my first sentence.  In which case, you should probably turn on the news to see the riot at the courthouse, but otherwise, read on for this week's Odds & Sods.

• Continuing with the theme of literary locations from two weeks ago, a map of Raskolnikov's Saint Petersburg.
• A triptych of the way we live now, financial edition: Paul Krugman on how proposed fixes to the post-crisis economy resemble the Restoration Bourbons in learning nothing, an example of what it is, exactly, the rich spend all their money on, and a profile in the moral cowardice of the people who make that money for them.  
• While talking a stroll during my court-approved lunch break, I stumbled across this little piece of Metropolitan history.  Surrounded by the capitalistic timelessness of Chipotle, Starbucks, and the like, I was surprised but  grateful to find this coelacanth-like survival.  
• This weeks song is one with some personal history for me and is also surprisingly relevant when being asked to meditate for an extended period on questions of guilt and innocence.

• And as always, this week's remedy, the Sherry Cobbler: Add 4 oz of Sherry in glass, ice, 1 tbs sugar, and orange slices to cocktail shaker, shake vigorously, pour into tall glass, garnish with fruits in season.  

Map of Old Brooklyn

Happy Columbus Day!

Why Columbus is a True American Hero, a sub-Buzzfeed infographic in four parts:

1.   He never let facts get in the way of his opinions -

Poor Eratosthenes gets no respect     

2.   He knew that he who has a better press agent makes the rules - 

I like the part where the Santa Maria has to outrun the Headless Horseman

3.   He knew that beachfront property is the best kind of real estate asset - 

It's not like the Arawaks were using it, right?

4.   He inspired one of the funniest scenes on The Sopranos -      

"He was gay, Gary Cooper?"

 

Friday Odds & Sods Know What You Did Last Summer

The gears of Justice continue their steady grinding, although thankfully I've been given a brief reprieve until Tuesday for Columbus Day, a celebration of the explorer's stubborn refusal to admit his twin failures in mathematical computation and geographical nomenclature.  As a sworn servant of the Court, I will not in any official capacity comment on the justice of celebrating this particular holiday in this venue, leaving those thoughts for another time.  Anyways, enough with the chatter and down to the good stuff.  

• Science has discovered the apartment in Manhattan that is farthest away from a subway station, and it can be yours, for the low, low price of 3,750,000 dollars.
• Is there anything better than coming home on a Friday night (or Saturday morning) to a recording of T.S. Eliot reading The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock?  Undoubtedly, but you can keep whatever these pleasures might be to yourselves for the nonce.  
• Continuing on a poetomystical note, while it might not be mermaids singing each to each, this article explores the literary genre of near-death journeys to the Great Beyond (and gives equal credit to the true believers and the hucksters making money off them)
• Finally, this weeks remedy, the Metropole Cocktail: Take 1/2 teaspoon syrup, two dashes Peychaud's Bitters, 2 oz VSOP cognac, 1 oz dry vermouth, mix with ice, stir.  Drain, and serve with maraschino cherry.  

Before The Law

Recognizing, no doubt, the expertise in justice of which my blog is the proof, the authorities of the Metropolis have selected me for the heavy burden of jury duty.  While the great weight of my responsibilities is somewhat alleviated by the the princely compensation of five dollars an hour, I fear that posting may be somewhat light for the next two weeks or so, although I will do my best to keep up.  It somehow seems appropriate to reflect on Socrates and Alcibiades discussing justice when being asked to render it "real" life as well.  Anyway, until my return, here is a video of Orson Welles narrating Franz Kafka own meditation on the intersection of law and justice.  

Friday Odds & Sods: The Quickening

It's been a gloomy couple of days here in the Metropolis.  The weather has alternated been dank and cloudy, autumn-like and cloudy, and just a general, neutral-grayish sort of cloudy. Not that I have anything against gray fall days, on the whole, but this extended period without either rain or sun seems to me to demonstrate a lack of commitment in the climate. But as the saying goes, everyone talks about the weather, especially when there is nothing else to talk about, even if no one can change it.  Let's hope for some pristine sunny autumn days ahead while turning to this weeks Odds & Sods.

• I must shamefully admit that I used to be a bit of a conspiracy theorist when I was younger, before I understood what pareidolia was.  But when I hear about a nefarious organization like the Order of the Occult Hand, I can't help but wonder...
• Lots of good reading this week on the intersection between fantasy and reality, art and life: a profile of the Zimmerman family now that their 15 minutes are up, Sontag on Riefenstahl, and the historical roots of Faulkner's Yoknapatawpha County.
• Good on Google for recognizing Yoknapatawpha as a word.
• This week's remedy, The Weeper's Joy: take 1/2 tsp gum syrup, 1 oz absinthe, ditto dry vermouth, ditto kümmel, and 2 dashes curaçao, stir with ice, strain and enjoy.  

Map of Yoknapatawpha County

 ,

Sex, Love, and Politics IV: Alcibiades I (109e - 113c)

Text of the Alcibiades here, and previous entries here, here, and here.

When I was just beginning my education, my fellows and I were subjected to an exercise in intellectual betterment referred to as the Socratic Method.  What this consisted in, as near as I can tell, was the idea that if all the pupils in a classroom put their desks in a circle instead of rows, the feast of reason and communion of souls would spontaneously commence and all would be lifted to a higher plane of mind and beauty.  Such, I regret to report, did not turn out to be the case.  This anecdote, however, does serve a useful purpose insofar as it brings to mind a major subject of the Alcibiades that we have so far left unaddressed, namely what is the nature of the method Socrates is using in the dialogue.

To be sure, this topic has come up in earlier parts of the dialogue.  In the last post, for instance, we saw that Socrates continued talking with Alcibiades only after they agreed to discourse in a question and answer format, rather than by means of long, flowery speeches that would be considered the model of civilized discourse in the period.  In the section now under consideration, however, the issue of Socrates' method and its goal comes to the fore and with it, I think, insight into the relationship between Socrates and Alcibiades.  

Friday Odds & Sods, Too: Electric Boogaloo

As autumn officially gets underway and the start of another year becomes just barely visible behind of the end of this one, it is pleasing to reflect how time, which we often perceive as a straight line, is really a matter of cycles.  Year follows year, season follows season, day, day,  and on and on. Only the limits of our own self-centered perspective makes us convince that time is the setting for the epic (or rather, the short story) of our own existence, with a clearly defined progression.  But never fear, dear reader: The eternal recurrence of Friday Odds & Sods will serve as a constant reminder of the true nature of past, present, and future.

• BAM is putting on a production of some of Samuel Beckett's one woman shows in two weeks, starring Irish actress Lisa Dawn.  I've never been in the audience of one of Beckett's plays (although I did make a very good Vladimir in college in English class, if I do say so myself), so I'm looking forward to attending.
• A very trenchant column (from Bloomberg, no less!) spelling out  the very clear moral hazards young people face when they go to work on Wall Street.  
• This is a recent discovery, a YouTube series retelling the history of World War I week by week.  What an age of miracles and wonders!
• Finally, for this weeks recipe, I offer the aptly named Corpse Reviver: Take 2 oz cognac, 1 oz Apple brandy, 1 oz sweet vermouth.  Stir, with ice, and strain into cocktail glass.  Smile.

Sex, Love, and Politics III: Alcibiades I (106c - 109e)

As always, the original text is here, and previous entries are here and here.

It must be admitted that, even 40-odd years since its birth, the old battle cry of "The personal is political," remains a succinct analysis of the relationship between the subject and the state, as a quick glance at our politics aptly demonstrates.  Deciding where and when the government should intervene in such issues as pregnancy, sex, and marriage remain subjects, if not of enlightened discourse, at least of 30 second campaign ads.  

Even beyond the sphere of these intimate issues, the role of the state is on lips of everyone this election year, from the pundits at Fox to the pundits at MSNBC.  Indeed, it almost seems impossible not to have an opinion on how Washington should act with regards to the economy, military action, policing of the border, et cetera, et cetera.  Going back in time, America's founding documents are dedicated to laying out (in principle, if not always in practice) clear areas of action and restriction of governmental power.  

Now in handy cartoon form!

You would be justified, dear reader, in wondering what these musings have to do with the Alcibiades.  When we left our heroes at the close of the last post, Socrates was in the midst of seducing Alcibiades, promising that it was only through Socrates' wisdom (and love) that Alcibiades could realize his political hopes.  But the issues that we debate today in our own soundbite-y way are direct descendants of those that are discussed in the portion of the dialogue that is the topic of this post, namely the proper role and function of the state, as well as the role of the citizen, insofar as he is a political participant, in ensuring that this function is carried out.

Son of Friday Odds & Sods

Since the moment Zeno observed, not doubt after a few glasses of ouzo on a hot Grecian day, that there are never enough minutes, or indeed millennia, to get anywhere at all, so one might as well stay where one is, time and space have been intimately linked in human thought.  Even beyond the level of metaphysical speculation, I would wager that most people know this connection is intuitively true.  A weathered tree, an old door, the view from the top of the stairs, all these things can send the soul back to another point in time.  In this particular instance, whenever you come to this particular place, you will be reminded of the time you read Friday Odds & Sods.

• We note in passing the rejection of independence by the people of Scotland and congratulate Her Royal Highness on passing on the realm intact to her heirs.  Although may we suggest cautious readers take to the stockpiling of scotch, the better to prepare for another '45.
• It was my very great pleasure to see the new lineup of the Carolina Chocolate Drops yesterday evening.  If you're looking for something to listen to this weekend, you could do worse than to check out the lead singer, Rhiannon Giddens, solo work.
• Another football season is well underway, although I would not be the first to remark that most of the interest and scandal seems to lie off season this year.  To get a glimpse of the sort of culture that many football players come into at a young age, look to the original Friday Night Lights.
• A good remedy to begin or end a long night out, the Stinger: Take .75 oz white creme de menthe and 2.25 oz  cognac, shake, and strain into cold glass.

The Highland Charge

 

The Bones of Thomas Paine

"There are eight million stories in the Naked City," they used to say on TV.   Adjusting for inflation since the '60s, that comes to about 10 or 12 million stories in circulation in the Metropolis today. Some of these stories are, of course, not worth the trouble it takes to hear them, and others one cannot avoid hearing not matter how much one might wish.  Oh my anonymous nighttime companion, while I never caught your name, the fact that you could vomit on the street at such a volume that you could wake me from a deep sleep when I was three floors above is a testament to the kind of night you had, if perhaps not your good judgment.

True to life tales of action and suspense

Even so, there is always a hope of sifting some gold out of the dross.  In the hope that, as Socrates remarks, knowing the men of the city is the origin of wisdom, or at least a source of temporary amusement, I have undertaken the labor on your behalf. This post I offer up as the result, the story of the sad death and bizarre afterlife of Thomas Paine

Return of Friday Odds & Sods

I read somewhere that as one ages one's perception of the passage of time speeds up so that by the time you've reached 30, about half of your life has already finished, subjectively speaking.  And when I compare, for instance, how long it used to take each hour of 7th Grade to pass to how quickly this week has gone by, this does in fact seem to be the case.  Of course every moment of ending is also a moment of beginning, or so a fortune cookie once told me, and in this case the drawing down of another week is the start of another Friday Odds & Sods.

• Despite the occasional recurrence of warmer weather, we seem to be slowly slipping into fall.  This is a sign that it is time to put away the things of summer and prepare for another winter.  Away with wearing white and clear liquors and up with black coats and a nice whiskey.  If you need a cold-weather tipple, might I recommend being Defiant?
• A good skewering of two idols of undeserved pretension, Apple & U2: U2's Forgettable Fire 
• I'm feeling like something classy for this weeks miracle cure, and you don't get much more classy than a Martini:  Take 5 parts gin, 1 part dry vermouth, dash of bitter, ice, stir and strain. Garnish with olive or lemon twist.  
• To close, a song to serve as a prayer for a pleasant fall season.  Until next time.

Sex, Love, and Politics II: Alcibiades I (103a-106c)

Link to previous post here, and to online text of Alcibiades I here

If an anthropologist from Proxima Centauri or thereabouts wanted to grasp just how odd Earth's population of hairless hominids was, a good starting point for the extraterrestrial's education would be sex.  Most other animals seem to get on with the business of rutting in a relatively neurosis-free sort of way, at least so far as we can tell.  Peacocks grow their plumage, salmon swim upstream, and nature, as it were, takes its course.  Only man, with his infinite capacity to trap himself in puzzles of his own devising, seems to want to ascribe special significance to his sexual impulses

He's hot and he knows you know it

Sex, Love, & Politics I: Alcibiades I

Although we Gallipots tend to partake of only so much wisdom as is short and easily quotable, it is nonetheless the case that on long weekends afternoons one's thoughts do tend towards contemplation of eternal verities. Such, in fact, is the current state of mind of your humble correspondent this Sunday. I would like, therefore, to take a slightly more serious tone for a few posts on a work that I have been wrestling with  recently, Plato's Alcibiades I.  Interested parties may find an online version with accompanying Greek here.

Mosaic Portrait of Alcibiades

Friday Odds & Sods

So I had a great post prepared, full of both contemporary relevance and timeless truth, with a fresh perspective on the human condition and likely to revolutionize the way we think about all aspects of the world and our place in it.  Then I remembered it was Friday, and you never release "A" material on Fridays.  So instead here are some random tidbits that had nowhere else to go.  Enjoy!

• Firstly, a Public Service Announcement.  Long-time residents of the Metropolis know first-hand that using or even just glancing at a smart phone instantly drops the IQ of subway riders and eliminates all spatial self-awareness.  Just today, your humble correspondent noticed two addicts who didn't even exit the station before getting their fix, instead deciding to stand motionless in the stairwell with Zen-like detachment, swiping away at Tinder.  Please, for the love of all that is Holy, wait two seconds to upload your pics of #your #subway #ride #yolo until you are out fully out of the subway station.
• Some weekend reading: Anthony Lane's review of the latest YA movie, If I Stay, offers some chuckles as well as insightful commentary on the present John-Green-ification of movies and literature.  Masha Gessen examines the roots of Russia's declining population, a nearly 50 year trend that shows little sign of reversing.

Unhappy Anniversaries

If forced to select the most miserable year in recorded history, a strong case could be made for 1914.  Some reasons for this choice are immediately obvious, such as the outbreak of World War I, Europe's four year long danse macabre.  Other events, while perhaps not as patently catastrophic, also speak to the quality and quantity of the year's misery. One of these other tragedies is the extinction of the passenger pigeon, a specie that just a few decades previously had been so numerous that it numbered in the billions and had flew in flocks miles long.

In a sense, both the extinction and the war can be seen as the denouement of the intertwined trends of the antebellum: technological advancement, industrial expansion, and imperial ideology.  Just as railroads delivered machine gun ammunition and phosgene gas to the front at the Somme, Ypres, and Verdun so that hundreds of thousands of young men could be mowed down in the name of God and country, so too railroads delivered thousands of hunters to every corner of a Manifest-Destiny-driven United States so that passenger pigeons could be mowed down in their nesting grounds and their meat sold back east.  The going rate was about 50 cents per dozen.

Happy Labor Day!

As another summer come to an end, culturally if not climate-wise, I would like to take a moment to recall that the reason for Labor's Day creation was Grover Cleveland's terror of workers celebrating an actual labor day, for various reasons.

Whatever serious and sober celebrations the laboring classes were expected to hold on this day of rest that Grover had so graciously granted, it is hard to imagine a West Indian carnival as one of them.  Yet at this very moment on my street the soca is blasting, girls are dancing, and rum is flowing.  What more could a working man ask for?

Of Gallipots and Bull Finches

In the January 10th, 1807 issue of Cobbett's Political Register, Mr. William Cobbett, noted British reformer and crank, turned the focus of his scathing pen from its usual targets of the war with France, Catholic Emancipation, and Parliamentary Reform to a more perennial topic, the masking of ignorance with pretentious jargon:

Do those who make use of such phrases, he wrote, which the stupidest wretch upon Earth might learn to use as well as they in a few hours; nay, which a parrot would learn, or which a high-dutch bird-catcher would teach to a bull-finch or a tom-tit in the space of a month; and do they think, in good earnest, that this last relick of the mummery of monkery, this playing off upon us of a few gallipot words, will make us believe that they are learned?

Political Cartoon of William Cobbett, 1819