Farewell to Shifty

I think every boy growing up in the US in the 50's and 60's was a big fan of World War II. For most of us, our fathers and uncles fought in that war and it was always described as a noble event, the so-called "moral war."

Of course all that changed in the late 60's when the Vietnam war took away our taste for killing and dying. But for those years of my boyhood I loved to "play war," shooting invisible Nazis and Japs, falling and rolling on the ground and then getting back up to do it all again. If you saw the movie Born on the 4th of July, you'll understand.

As I have gotten older, and patriotism has come back in vogue, I admit that I am still a bit of a WWII nut. I have my own private collection of WWII movies and even gave a donation to the WWII Memorial in Washington a few years back. I think the whole experience made me feel closer to my father who died before the memorial was built. He would have loved it.

So when the movie Saving Private Ryan (SPR) was made I jumped at the opportunity to purchase it immediately when it came out on DVD. I've watched this movie over a dozen times and still find there are parts I can't look at or cringe when I view them. It gives me a visceral reaction.

Perhaps because the movie was a big hit and because interest in WWII was clearly increasing at that time, Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks, the talents behind SPR, produced and directed a 705 minute TV miniseries on HBO called Band of Brothers. This incredible re-enactment of the lives of a few handfuls of young GIs during WWII has brought me to tears many, many time as I've watched episode after episode over and over again.

When you first watch it, you can be easily confused because the cast of characters are monumental. There are so many names, some you meet only once, and others who stay with you the entire story. Then the producers slowly introduce us to some of the actual vets - now all old men - who tell the back story. And it is then that you really realize, really understand, what war is all about.

As you start to link the young actors to the old gentlemen, you see and feel the experience of World War II and the men of Easy Company. In some magical way, the casting directors found young actors who often looked like the real men. Eventually you find yourself simply astonished how any of these guys made it through those hellish experiences.

And yet the evidence is right there...they were still alive and talking about.

Talking about it is perhaps not an accurate description, for it was clear that for each of these great and noble men, the experiences of battle had left painful, lasting scars. It was in the remembrance of their fallen comrades that they talked; each man played down the role they had taken in the war.

Each time I watch the film I am so impressed that these were all just everyday, average guys. Most of them volunteered to be in the service and chose paratroopers because it paid a few more bucks per month.

At the very end of the film, the narrator tells about what happens to many of the members of Easy Company in the years that followed the War. Some died in accidents, others from poor choices, and others would go on to live on long full, relatively uneventful lives - not as war heroes - but as everyday Americans. Just like my Dad and uncles.

Well last night on the evening news there was a short and sweet tribute to one of those men from Easy Company. Shifty Powers who was known as a marksman and and all-around nice guy passed from us last month to join his band of brothers in the great beyond. It brought a tear to my eye again and a feeling of loss that is usually associated with the death of a close friend or family member. I think after watching Band of Brothers an innumerable amount of times, each of these men have become, in some ways, like family members and close friends.

I salute you Shifty and all of the others who went before you and who are waiting their time to join you.

In closing, perhaps Maj. Dick Winters, Shifty's CO said it best:

During the interview segment of the miniseries Band of Brothers, Winters quoted a passage from a letter he received from Sergeant Mike Ranney, "'I cherish the memories of a question my grandson asked me the other day when he said, Grandpa, were you a hero in the war?' Grandpa said 'No… but I served in a company of heroes…'"

Here are some background links on Shifty and Band of Brothers

Shifty Powers of ‘Band of Brothers’ fame dies

Band Of Brothers Hero, Darrell ‘Shifty’ Powers Dies

War Hero E-mail Goes Worldwide -- But Who Really Wrote It?

Wikipedia on Darrell "Shifty" Powers

D-Day Normandy site - in his own words (Note: you may have to use the search to find this link)

Band of Brothers - IMDB and about Shifty's character played by Peter Youngblood Hills

~jeb

More Wyeth Lore

I’ve already posted My Andrew Wyeth Story in this blog twice; once two summers ago and again last winter when Andy died. And since this Sunday, July 12 is Andy's birthday, and proclaimed A Day for Andrew Wyeth by Governor Baldacci, I thought it was appropriate to share this latest yarn.

Several weeks ago I had the opportunity to drive to New York for the wedding of one of my nieces. I stayed at my sister’s house in north Jersey for the whole weekend. As Saturday turned into another one of our all too common rainy days, she suggested we drive down to Montclair, NJ and visit the Montclair Museum of American and Native Art. The sister explained that they were currently exhibiting The Wyeths: Three Generations and that she had been there a few weeks earlier with her kindergarten class. She was knowledgeable about My Wyeth Story although I reminded her of some of the highlights and the post script involving Andy’s granddaughter Vic. The sister howled.

We arrived at the Montclair in the early afternoon and learned that there would be a gallery walk and talk starting in a few minutes. It turned out that the docent that was giving the walk was one of my sister’s colleagues and I was introduced as being the brother from Maine who had had some personal experience with the Wyeth family.

As we had viewed the collection shortly before the gallery walk began, I told the sister a few more recent Wyeth stories that I had heard Jamie tell on the local TV station a few weeks earlier. But I made her relieved/proud when I indicated that I would be keeping my mouth shut once the gallery walk began.

The young woman giving the presentation did a beautiful job and clearly had done her homework. Although I know a lot about the family and the history of many of the paintings, this woman had a few tales that even I had not heard before and it was all very interesting.

A crowd of about 30 people following the walk as we strolled through the large gallery and there were only a few questions asked, all of which the docent securely and authoritatively answered. The exhibit sponsored by the Bank of America is traveling around the country and would be in NJ until mid July.

We were almost through the end of the walk and coming to the last few painting by Jamie Wyeth when the docent stopped in front of one of larger pieces. Called (I believe*) “Harbor, Monhegan,” this is a very colorful painting of a young boy, standing in front of a large oil tank that has been converted into a furnace riding on spoke wheels and spewing large orange flames and thick black smoke. I remembered seeing the painting on the television and hearing Jamie telling a little about the background of the painting. It seems that because of the limited ability to landfill trash on Monhegan Island, that summer, the locals hired this young boy, Cat Bates, to burn the trash in this makeshift furnace which he dragged up and down the beach each day. As the smell of garbage attracted the sea birds, the air and ground in the image, and in the real scene, was full of sea gulls flying and clamoring around the boy.

As the docent was finishing her presentation one woman in the crowd asked about the meaning behind the image of the boy and the fire. I think she may have half expected to hear some wild tale evoking images of Satan and Hell. The docent looked furtively through her notes and then admitted the she didn’t know the origin of the painting. I looked over at my sister who gave me a knowing glance and non-verbal permission to finally open my mouth. So, never being a shy individual, I piped up and detailed the story about Cat and the reason for the conflagration.

I immediately noticed that the flock started to gather around me as I detail more of the specifics. There was soon a dialog. “Is the boy still there? What happened to him? Is his name really Cat?”

I answered to the best of my knowledge that Cat was all grown up now and that Jamie had included him in several other paintings. And, no, I don’t know why his mother named him Cat, but that was indeed his name. (More info about Cat on this website)

We talked for some time about the Maine ecology, sanitation and the independent thinking individuals who inhabit Monhegan Island, Maine.

I was on a roll; I had a captive audience.

Next, I moved to another series of two paintings of sea gulls and told story that I recalled from the television interview with Jamie Wyeth. In this, I explained that Jamie indicated that while painting the gulls one day one bird came very close to his canvas. “I always wondered how much a sea gull weighs,” the junior Wyeth explained. “So, I just reached out and grabbed the bird.”

It seems sea gulls, like most wild creatures, don’t take too kindly to being handled by humans and put up quite a fuss. “The bird started pecking at me and took a nip out of my eyelid,” the artist pointing to some wrinkles above his eyelid to show the scar made by the bird. “They don’t weigh very much at all,” he added.

The small, thinning crowd went wild with enthusiasm.

I decided that I had probably said too much and deferred back to our leader to continue with the tour. But I could see that I had impressed even her.

Soon the walk was over and sister and I joined to thank the docent for her presentation and apologize for perhaps speaking out of turn. She warmly indicated that my contribution has clearly added to the presentation and that she would be using this new-found material in her future gallery walks.

We talked for several more minutes about my experiences and where in Maine I lived. Several others from the tour gathered around and wanted to know if I was a relative. Demurely, I explained I was a mere mortal and that I had was just a big fan of Andrew Wyeth and had seen a number of their exhibits in Maine. I didn’t waste any time and put in a good plug for our wonderful state and invited them to all come and visit us this summer. The Maine Tourism Bureau would be proud.

But before we ended our little Wyeth Love-fest, my sister encouraged me to tell The Story. Coyly, I set the mood and told a much abbreviated version of the tale. My new fan club glowed in approval and absolutely loved the story. They of course wanted to know if I ever took Vic up on the offer for coffee. I told them no, but that may be some day I would.

Perhaps I’ll head down to the Farnsworth this weekend and look for Andy’s granddaughter.

~jeb

* In listening to the WCSH6 interview with Jamie Wyeth, I learned that there are five paintings of this same theme. Not sure which one is in the Montclair exhibit

Bing

You know you're an old geezer when you hear news about something called Bing and you think of this guy.

The other Bing.

~j

________

Image licensed from Creative Commons

Spock, I need you…

For old Trekies like me, there has been an evolution of interest and discernment about what we might affectionately call "The Franchise."

As a kid, I loved Capt. Kirk and Mr. Spock. I was mesmerized by the then-high-tech nature of the TV show, wanting to believe that the balsa wood cut out USS Enterprise was real despite the fact that it looked nothing like the real space ships NASA was shooting off from Cape Kennedy. Star Trek was like nothing else on television and made shows like Lost in Space look like child's play.

The plots of those original shows, scurrilously described by the TV critics of the time as "cowboys in space" and “swashbuckling astronauts,” were perfect for my 13 year old boy sensibilities. There on the backlot of some Paramount studio, the bold and brash young Kirk persevered in a to-the-death, hand-to-hand battle with some slimy, scaly Styrofoam-laden creature from the Black Lagoon. It was comic book drama at its best.

And as quickly as it started, it disappeared. Well, not exactly. Through the miracle of television reruns, you could continue to relive the Star Trek phenomena in syndication.

By the time the Star Trek story moved to the silver screen in the late 70's, I had matured, as had the characters. The plots in this next iteration of The Franchise were slightly more involved, perhaps overly melodramatic, but the special effects were all the more realistic and believable. With some super movie hocus pocus, the shots of the Enterprise traveling at Warp Factor 5 started to look – real.

We had all aged along with Spock and Kirk and grown comfortable with their enduring relationship. We enjoyed their fraternity which now allowed Spock to call his captain by his first name – something unheard of in the original series. And we reveled in the fact that the once romantic and sexy young Kirk had been replaced with a self-deprecating scoundrel whose libido – and ego - had somehow managed to be diluted with age.

Then, in the 90s ST: The Next Generation brought a whole new dimension - and a whole new “generation” of followers to The Franchise. The swashbuckling antics of old were gone, replaced by intelligence and craftiness. Battles were won with brilliance and cunning, not brawn and fisticuffs. The basic formula remained the same and to us old Trekies, who had grown wise with age, the refocus on the morality play side of Star Trek had a fresh new appeal. New favorite characters emerged and new 23rd century technologies provided more opportunities for more complicated plot twists and turns.

Though through this period, the memories of Kirk and Spock were not lost. Reaching perhaps a new zenith, The Franchise exploited both the large screen and small as more movies rolled out and the TV series broke new ground with a nine season run.

But eventually the two casts seemed to cross into a time warp that left almost all of them stranded beyond the Neutral Zone. Whether it was poor writing or a lack of imagination, the old friends were getting a bit long in the tooth and more and more unbelievable. Attempts at moving TNG to the big screen never really produced the excitement that was expected and Kirk and Spock had simply become old men.

The Franchise experienced a few more furtive twists and turns in the years that followed. ST: Voyager which started off slow and stiff eventually won me over. But perhaps because of the mere nature of the plot, Voyager had to have an ending that would be anticlimactic. Deep Space Nine and Enterprise never really resonating with me and apparently neither did it with mainstream audiences. Both of these later iterations did not last very long and it was beginning to look like The Franchise was relegated to thrusters only.

And then there was The Void.

With Gene Roddenberry long gone and several of the actors from the original series having returned to Sto-Vo-Kor, some of us thought that perhaps our fantastic romp in outer space had gone out of phase permanently. Perhaps too, many of the high tech gizmos that had fascinated us in1965 had simply become pedestrian. As we communicate with our smart phones and track our locations on our handheld GPS units, we are now living out the Star Trek fantasies in our daily life.

So what could possibly make this new installment of The Franchise a success?

I admit I was pretty skeptical. It would take a lot to get me interested and excited about a new cast and crew.

So I must admit I have been surprised and pleased with Star Trek – the new movie.

Kudos to the director, writers and production staff who have managed to reach back into that box of magic and pull out a winner.

By returning to the original formula – cowboys in space – and adding a troupe of good young actors along with some of the best computer graphics money can buy, The Franchise appears to have brought itself back to life.

While I cannot give it a full five stars, I will confirm that the new movie is a nice entertaining experience that Trekies old and young have to go see.

In closing, you know what Spock would say…

Springtime

We seem to be about a week early in the growing cycle. That's alright by me.

~j

Free range kids

Just got finished reading an article in Edutopia called "A Conversation with Lenore Skenazy on Free-Range Kids." You may have heard about Skenazy. She's the mother who became an unwitting international celebrity when she allowed her nine-year-old son to take the New York City Subway home from Bloomingdales in an effort to allow him to experience some independence. As I recalled the story that took place some time ago, I found myself remembering my own childhood growing up in Brooklyn and the freedom we had then.

Growing up in Clinton Hill in the late 50s and early 60s was an ideal experience. Kids at that time were allowed to travel away from the womb in increasing expanding concentric circles until the umbilicus was snapped from stretching. This was quite a feat for me considering my mother was not one to let her little darling steer too far too fast. Still, by the time I was 10, I was regularly hopping onto the Vanderbilt Ave. bus and traveling with my (slightly) older sister up to the Brooklyn Public Library at Grand Army Plaza.

By my mid-teen age years I had free reign of the "City that Never Sleeps" and eventually could be found taking the subways in the wee hours of the night.

My greatest feat of early-adolescent independence took place when I was about 12 or 13. At the time, my concentric circle of freedom and independence had expanded to about 3-4 blocks in all directions. Whether on foot, bicycle or roller skate, the opportunities and adventures continued to expand.

That summer, like most boys growing up in NYC, I was transfixed with everything baseball. The daily activity from March until September involved copious amounts of stickball played on Waverly Avenue, in traffic, with a stickball bat made out of an old broom handle an either a Pensy Pinky or the, quite-preferred Spalding (correctly pronounced Spaul-deen) ball. And yes, a homer was usually the result of a shot hit two sewers (aka, soo-ahs) distance; a feat that I was known to frequently accomplish. I was good.

That summer - it must have been 1965 or 66 - we had tired of stickball and longed for the real thing. You know, grass, a hardball, real bat. But alas, our little neighborhood had no such location for this kind of activity. The nearest bonafide baseball field was located at the Parade Grounds, a newly developed park just south of Prospect Park. The Parade Grounds contained a number of regulation baseball diamonds and was where the local little league teams (or school leagues like CYO) played. The distance from our neighborhood was a good three miles and required traversing through some "interesting" neighborhoods.

One day, quite spontaneously, my fellow scallywags and I decided that we should walk the distance armed with our bats, ball and gloves. I'm not sure why we chose not to take the bus which would have been a lot faster, safer and a lot less strenuous, but the likely reason was that we were all a little low on dough, and walking was free.

So off we went without a care. None of us had even bothered to tell our mothers where we were going. We just went. Ah, youth!

I seem to recall that I chose to be the the navigator and directed our posse up Vanderbilt to Grand Army Plaza. This was the way the bus would have taken us, and it was the route my father took when he drove us to The Park. Much like the scene in the movie Stand By Me, my troops and I talked up a storm and didn't seem to mind the long walk which was mostly uphill.

When we got to Grand Army Plaza we headed right into Prospect Park. I figured this was the most direct way to the Parade Grounds and I think secretly I was thinking we might find a suitable place to play much closer than the Parade Grounds which were still quite a distance away.

And indeed we did. Soon out into the middle of the meadow we caught up with another group of boys who were already playing a pick-up game of ball. Within minutes we had the Clinton Hill boys in hot pursuit of the Park Slope boys and a grand time was had by all.

I don't remember much of the game but mostly I remember walking home and how tired we all were. Despite the fact that it was all down hill, I think the extent of our exertion had taken its toll.

We got back to Clinton Hill just before supper time and most of us just peeled off and when into our respective apartment buildings.

I don't recall much of what happened after that except that I knew better than to tell my mother where I had been that day. She heard about it some time later and yelled a bit, but it was all part of the game.

I can't say that I would let my nine-year-old solo the NYC subways these days, but Ms Skenazy does have some good points to make. And perhaps the kids of today would be just a little better off if they had a chance to get out and about more often.

~j

Portland Maine - Let's Celebrate!

I just read a story in the Friday Portland Press Herald that I would have thought should have been the headlines. "Forbes.com ranks Portland Maine the most livable in the U.S."

While I would not dispute the "livable" aspect of this - I was a bit surprised by the acknowledgment that the Portland "metropolitan area" is over 500,000 people; 513,102 to be exact. That seemed like a bit much. In fact, I found it hard to believe that almost half of the entire state's population lives in the Portland "metro."

As you have heard me rant in other blogs, having grown up in "the greatest city in the world" I find all references to Maine having a "metro" anything a big laugh.

But indeed, according to the US Census Bureau there are that many people in the Maine counties of Cumberland, York and Sagadahoc. In fact, Sagadahoc only accounts for a mere 36,000 of the total. Southern Maine is getting to be a big place.

Even though I have never lived in the City of Portland, I guess the years that I lived in York county makes me at least a former "metro" resident. Sanford, where I lived for about ten years, I am sure did nothing to add to the credit of this honor.

In any case, Portland, Maine clearly deserves the honor and should get more than a small article on page three of the PPH. C'mon guys!

According to the article on Forbes.com, Portland beat out Bethesda, Md., and Des Moines, Iowa., Bridgeport/Stamford, Conn., and Tulsa, Okla. Of these, I have only been to Bridgeport/Stamford and I can attest we are much better than there. Sorry.

So, let's strike up the band, get out the confetti and have a party. At this dismal time of the year, in this dismal economic climate, we need something to celebrate.

WooHoo Portland Metro!

~j

Image from MainePuzzles.com

Just How Effective are On-Line Schools?

I am sure it was a simple coincidence that these two stories appeared next to each other on the ASCD Smart Brief.

You be the judge about the efficacy of "on-line schools" as these are the links to the two stories:

Online school aims to keep at-risk students from dropping out

Online school says too many students slacking off

~j

Chinese Proverb

My sister just sent me this e-mail:

ABOUT MONEY
WITH MONEY YOU CAN'T BUY A HOUSE, BUT NOT A HOME.
WITH MONEY YOU CAN'T BUY A CLOCK, BUT NOT TIME.
WITH MONEY YOU CAN'T BUY A BED, BUT NOT SLEEP.
WITH MONEY YOU CAN'T BUY A BOOK, BUT NOT KNOWLEDGE.
WITH MONEY YOU CAN'T SEE A DOCTOR, BUT NOT GOOD HEALTH.
WITH MONEY YOU CAN'T BUY A POSITION, BUT NOT RESPECT.
WITH MONEY YOU CAN'T BUY BLOOD, BUT NOT LIFE.
WITH MONEY YOU CAN'T BUY SEX, BUT NOT LOVE.
THIS CHINESE PROVERB BRINGS LUCK. IT ORIGINATED FROM THE NETHERLANDS.
THIS PROVERB HAS GONE AROUNDTHE WORLD 8 TIMES.NOW IT IS YOUR TURN TO HAVE GOOD LUCKONCE YOU HAVE RECEIVED IT.
THIS IS NOT A JOKE YOUR LUCK WILL ARRIVE BY MAIL OR VIA THE INTERNET
SEND A COPY TO THE PEOPLE WHO REALLY NEED LUCK. DO NOT SEND MONEY, BECAUSE YOU CANNOT BUY LUCK, AND DO NOT KEEP IT FOR MORE THAN 4 DAYS.
ONE MAN, GOT HIS FIRST COPY OF THE PROVERB IN 1953 AND ASKEDHIS SECRETARY TO MAKE HIM 20 COPIES.NINE HOURS LATER HE WON $99 MILLION IN THE LOTTERY IN HIS COUNTRY.
AN EMPLOYEE OF HIS RECEIVED THE SAME CARD, BUT DID NOT FORWARD IT. A FEW DAYS LATER HE LOST HIS JOB.AFTER THAT, HE CHANGED HIS MIND, SENT IT, AND BECAME RICH.
IN 1967, ANOTHER MAN GOT THE PROVERB; HE LAUGHED ABOUT IT AND DISCARDED IT. A FEW DAYS LATER HIS SON GOT SICK. THE MAN LOOKED FOR THE NOTE, MADE 20 COPIES, AND SENT THEM. NINE DAYS LATER, HE GOT GOOD NEWS: HIS SON WAS SAFE AND SOUND.
THIS CARD HAS BEEN SENT BY ANTHONY DE CROUD, A MISSIONARY IN SOUTH AFRICA.
BEFORE 96 HOURS PASS YOU BY, YOU SHOULD FORWARD THIS MESSAGE TO 20 OTHER PEOPLE.
YOUR LUCK WILL COME WITHIN 4 DAYS FROM THE MOMENT YOU RECEIVED THE MESSAGE.
WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO LOSE? THIS CARD HAS JUST BEEN SENT TO YOU FOR GOOD LUCK. NOW LUCK IS FINALLY AT YOUR DOOR.
SEND 20 COPIES TO ACQUAINTANCES, FRIENDS, AND FAMILY. ONE DAY LATER YOU WILL GET GOOD NEWS OR A NICE SURPRISE.
I SENT THIS CARD EXPECTING IT TO GO AROUND THE WORLD.
SEND ONLY 20 COPIES AND EXPECT GOOD TIDINGS TO ARRIVE IN THE NEXT FEW DAYS.
IMPORTANT: DO NOT MODIFY THE TEXT THAT I SENT YOU. FORWARD IT EXACTLY THE WAY YOU GOT IT.
GOOD LUCK!

Here is what (some - not all) people are saying about it on the web:

There is no Anthony de Croud. The e-mail is SPAM.

Is it too good to be true?

pet peeve of the week: chain letters

Blogs about: Chain Letters

Το άτιμο το χρήμα

MIT GELD

Note I don't know what the last two have to say, but I get a sense that "hoax" is an international concept.

Sorry, sis.

~j

PS: If I win that $99 mill, you'll all the the first to know.

Suspicious Letter

So this e-mail (see image above) appears in my mail client this morning "LETTER FOR BRANDT."

Yeah?

In recent weeks I have reported in my other blog about a serious and under-reported security breech in Adobe Acrobat's Reader and Professional application. While there has reportedly been no actual viruses released this way, I have, as per the recommendations posted in the various articles I've read, turned off some of the features of both applications until Adobe gets around and comes up with a patch. I was able to update to Acrobat Reader this past weekend, but the patch for Acrobat Professional (v 8) was not out yet. See security info on Adobe site

The other thing the articles recommended was to be very cautious of unsolicited PDFs showing up in your mailbox.

So my "threat level" flag just went up and I ain't opening this critter. I re-scanned my computer with Norton and have deleted the e-mail and flushed it down the can (emptied the trash).

Beware the Ides of March? Or, a little green man (with a strange name) on St. Paddy's Day.

~jeb

Back to Brooklyn

A couple of dozen years ago one of my old campers wrote a song and made a video about going back to Brooklyn. It is an experience all ex-patriot-brooklynites have to do from time to time. Sorta like "returning the to scene of the crime."

The purpose this time was a college reunion which will be blogged separately. Here are the warm-up photos of the Old Hood - Clinton Hill. Enjoy.

~j

We begin with some landmarks...

Grand Army Plaza, looking north from PPW and Carroll St.

The Giant Phalus of Brooklyn

This needs no explanation to any Brooklynite.

The Corner. There used to be mailboxes on this corner that we sat on to "discuss philopsophy."

My block.

My building...looks pretty ratty now, don't it

This was my dentist's office....he, The Butcher of Brooklyn has long since departed, but there is still a dentist in that location...a good one I'm sure.

Twittering Thoughts

As you can see from the Twitter Updates block to the right, I have become a bit of a Twit-head lately. It seems that in the past week I have had a least three conversations with friends and family about Twitter and everyone want to know the skinny.

So I told them that one of the things about Twitter which appeals to me is the diversity of its Tweeple. Not only can you see and follow comments from people from all around the world, you can follow people who don't necessarily think the way you do. These are people who you might otherwise consider as "enemies" in the real world, but in the Twitterverse you can follow them, "listen" to their comments, respond if you care to, or simply ignore. I have likened the Twitter experience to that of a junior high school lunchroom - hundreds of conversations going on around you; some you listen to and some you ignore. And all the time you are focused on listening to your closest friends.

Recently I have found myself "following" a number of self-proclaimed "conservatives" including some who denote themselves to be "Christian conservatives." Sometimes one or more of them rant about something in the Congress that they are upset with, and I have taken the time to listen and try to understand. What I am sensing from this very small number of tweets is a sense of desperation with the recent US elections and some flailing about to express their angst. But I AM trying to understand them. Sadly, I am not sure the attempt at understanding is mutual.

One of the interesting things that has emerged from this experience has been my learning some of their "codes." Indeed there has been the use of "hashtags" (these are the words and abbreviations that being with a "hash" mark - #) that seem to follow along with conservative rhetoric. The most popular hashmark is #TCOT which stands for "Top Conservatives on Twitter." A number of these folks appear to wear it like a badge of allegiance. And that's the interesting part.

I wonder, why would anyone want to code their "tweets" with something that aligns them with a political group/movement? Is this a way of communicating with others of the same ilk? Is this a way of warning the rest of the world that the sentiments expressed are based upon a specific political bias or mindset? Is this a intentional means for drawing attention? Or, is this some form of allegiance to a cause?

The last idea scares me, but I think it might be closest to the truth.

But I am continuing to listen.

At the same time, I am considering a new hashtag for Twitter: #TPOT - "Top Patriots on Twitter." What do you think?

I am reminded of the Little Steven song "I am a patriot"

And I ain't no communist
But I ain't no capitalist
And I ain't no socialist
But I ain't no imperialist
And I ain't no Democrat
But I ain't no Republican
I only know one party
And it is freedom

I am, I am, I am
I am a patriot
And I love my country
Because my country is all I know

And the river opens for the righteous

~jeb

Weird News Update

It must have been a slow day in the newsroom at the Kennebec Journal – Augusta’s home newspaper. I think that might be an understatement. Wonder if it is ever busy. You know, a headline like this really gets your interest up: “Police: At 6:41 p.m., there was a disturbance on Middle Street.”

Anyway, two articles from yesterday’s paper are my choice for Weird News Update. Unfortunately, I can't get them from the newspaper's website, but here there are from the web:

NJ police: Woman's ex-friends used cold as weapon

NORTH BERGEN, N.J. – A 19-year-old woman who thought she was going to a party was instead driven to a rural wooded area and abandoned in 8-degree weather in a long-planned attack by three friends angry with her over an insurance claim, police said Thursday.

Maria Contreras-Luciano, 22, of Dumont, and Amber Crespo, 20, and Dyanne Velasquez, 21, both of North Bergen, face kidnapping, assault and conspiracy charges and are free on $200,000 bail. Crespo is also charged with making terroristic threats.

The women planned the attack for more than a month, Cannella said. The suspects wanted revenge after the 19-year-old sued Crespo's auto insurance carrier after a car accident, he said, adding that he didn't have details about the accident or claim.

Here is the whole story from Yahoo News

In Utah, funeral for toilet that died in line of "doody"

Have a funeral, of course.

On Friday morning, a hamburger joint in Centerville, Utah will have a "moment of silence" for the potty that was destroyed last week when a patron's handgun fell out of the holster and fired as he was hitching up his pants.

The bullet shattered the toilet in the Carl's Jr. restaurant and sent sharp shards into the man's arm. The 26-year-old shooter, who had a concealed-weapons permit, was treated at the scene for minor injuries.

Here is the whole story from Scripps News

That's the news!

~jeb

The Best Wedding Announcement Ever

I kinda of enjoy the shtick Jay Leno does when he reads the headlines every Monday on the Tonight Show. One of the particular treats is when he rattles off the names in the wedding announcements. You know names like, “the Purple-Sage wedding,” “The Bush-Pylot wedding,” “the Hardy – Soule wedding,” and so on. So I have taken to reading the wedding announcements in the local Portland Press Herald to see if I can spot any of those weird names. Occasionally, I even read the actual announcements.

Several weeks ago this one appears and it has my vote for the best wedding announcement ever. I am not making this up!

Baker – DeLorme

FREEPORT – Chelsea “Look At My Diploma” Holden Baker and Noah “Hometown Hero” DeLorme have decided to stop pretending they’re even mildly interested in other people and mate for life.

Ms. Baker has received seals of approval from Cornell and Columbia universities and has an impressive resume that include “talking a lot” and “attending parties” for some of San Francisco’s hippest companies. The groom-to-be dropped out of high school, three colleges, and is currently an “underemployed” out-of-season farmer with no grammatical understanding of quotation marks. Their children will be talented and ridiculously good-looking, outshined only by their parents.

The couple would like to thank friends and family for countless hours of therapy induced by each other. In lieu of gifts, please send whiskey, aged 10 years, in commemoration of their decade of on-again-off-again dating.

Cannon report in Casco Bay will announce the nuptials on Peaks Island during Labor Day weekend 2010.

I hope I get an invitation to that party!

~jeb

Pete Seeger, a true American

Seeing Pete Seeger singing at the Lincoln Memorial the other day reminded me of my own history with the man.

Reading today of a concerted effort to get Pete Seeger nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize made it more urgent to record this story of my own history with the man.

The easy part of the story – and the one that usually gets people’s attention is when I say, “Pete Seeger taught me to play the banjo.” After some oohs and ahs, I have to fess up and explain that in 1970-something after purchasing a used 5-string banjo, I purchased a copy of “How to play the 5-string banjo” by the man himself. I read the book, learned a few chords and some various techniques (most of which I incorporated into my guitar playing style), but never really did learn to play the banjo all that well. Well enough to fake a few songs and entertain the family, but never more than 3-4 chords.

But the purchase of the book, and my newly acquired affection toward Mr. Seeger prompted my father to tell me an interesting story; one I will share with you here.

Dad was a special agent for the FBI from the late 40s into the early 70s when he retired. So he was at the end of his career or in early retirement when he told the story.

As I remember, Dad began by telling me how much he admired Mr. Seeger noting that he was a “true American.” What I did not realize at the time was that for most of Pete’s professional life he was viewed as a Communist and very “un-American.”

It seems that some time during the 1950s Dad was apparently assigned the duty to “watch” Mr. Seeger. In his description, he told me the location where this took place and even noted the exact address where Mr. Seeger lived at the time. The surveillance work was really nothing more than what all FBI agents did or do; they watch and document what people do. It is usually all done somewhat surreptitiously, but as Pete has publicly confirmed for many years, he knew he was “being followed.” So this was not a big revelation.

The intriguing part of the story was my father’s strenuous and passionate assertion that Mr. Seeger had been wrongly miscast as anti-American.

It was the early 70s and I was at the peak of my own subversive period. It was the time of Nixon and Watergate and Viet Nam. I was a bit of a long-hair-hippy-freak at the time, but very mellow on the political spectrum. When I pressed Dad for more details about the surveillance he was mute. He simply kept repeating that the frequent public assertions of Mr. Seeger’s lack of patriotism were, in his mind, clearly wrong. He said this all with a knowing look on his face, and I believed him.

Perhaps what is most interesting about the story was not that it happened at all, but the fact that when I brought the story back up many years later my father denied the whole thing. No, he had never followed Seeger, and no, he had never said anything about Seeger’s patriotism.

This was extremely surprising and completely unconvincing.

As is common with many ex-agents and others from the quiet side of law enforcement – and I know a bunch of these folks – they frequently only talk about their work in cryptic and minimalistic ways. The limited revelations of details always come within coded terms that intrigue me. I usually am forced to do some homework to figure out the true meaning of the message. But Dad’s vintage message about Pete Seeger’s patriotism was very clear and unambiguous. He liked the guy.

His later assertions that it was not true really confused me. But I think I now understand.

I think it was part of that “old man’s disease” of becoming more conservative as you get older. Dad had been a Kennedy Democrat and adored Bobby Kennedy in the 60s. But by the 1980s he was a Reagan devotee and thought Lee Iacocca was God. He was proud to vote Republican and had autographed photos of George H.W. Bush hanging in the house. Ultimately, Dad never said he disliked Mr. Seeger, but would he would never re-assert the comments about his being “true American.”

In the 70s I had become a member of the Seeger “fan club” and would often play a few of his better known songs at folk festivals and social gatherings. Although I have never seen him perform live, I never miss an opportunity to watch him on TV. So, as Mr. Seeger began to perform at the Inaugural Concert in Washington, accompanied by his grandson and Bruce Springsteen, my eyes filled with tears. Like so many Americans who never thought they would live to see the day when a Black man was sworn in as the leader of the greatest country in the world, I am sure Mr. Seeger felt a strong sense of pride and vindication.

The choice to end the concert with the voice of Pete Seeger and words of Woody Guthrie renews my spirit and stirs my soul. This is truly a land made for you and me.

If you missed it, here is is on YouTube:



~jeb

My Andrew Wyeth Story - repost

In honor of the passing of this great American artist, I am sharing my Andrew Wyeth story:
Republished from August 12, 2007

I’ve told this story many times over the years and friends have suggested that I write it down for “posterity.” I am not sure if this blog can be considered as such, but I will tell the story anyway.

I can begin by telling you this idea was re-stimulated by an article in today’s Maine Sunday Telegram (MST). The MST and the Portland Press Herald love to have “human interest” stories this time of year – I’m sure to appeal to “visitors from away.” Indeed there are always some great folksy articles and stories in the summer issues, and I always look forward to reading them.

Today’s featured article in the Audience (Arts) section is about Maine’s most famous living artist, Andrew Wyeth who spends his summers in the mid-coast area. His son Jamie, perhaps the second most famous living artist in Maine lives here almost year round. But the article is not so much about Andrew as it is about the whole clan, and particularly Victoria (known to all as Vic) , Andrew’s 28-year-old granddaughter who has become something of a family historian and commentator.

The article provides a delightful insight into some of the background of the family and includes some vignettes of some the family eccentricities including the detonation of “crazy” Aunt Carolyn ashes, and a recent birthday party for grandpa complete with Uncle Jamie lighting off cannons.

If you are a Wyeth fan, you’ll love the article – read it on line.

But that’s not my story, mine is better.

It begins in 1970 when I was a camp counselor at a camp located in the town of Cushing, Maine. Each Sunday, the camp co-director (aka “The Old Man”) would take a bunch of kids and me to Rockland to attend church. This trip was only for baptized and practicing “mackerel snappers” and required a special request from parents. Somehow I was selected to be the token staff person to attend with the campers as the camp’s co-director wasn’t of that religious persuasion.

One of the things I enjoyed about this weekly trip was the opportunity to get off the island where the camp was located and see a little bit more of Maine. One Sunday, we took some back roads on our return from church and The Old Man seemed to be hunting for something and we made our way south of Thomaston and on to the back roads of Cushing. At some point along the way he suddenly turned the van off the road and on to a dirt driveway that led down to an old weather-beaten house. A sign at the end of the driveway noted “Olson House” and the ancient building overlooking a broad hayfield that provided a decent view of the St. George’s River beyond. The Old Man announced that this was the place where “that artist guy painted the picture of the crippled girl on the hill.” He fumbled for more details and then remembered the Wyeth name. For some strange reason, I could immediately visualize the picture he described. Strange because at the grand old age of 17, I certainly was not a connoisseur of American art and clearly had only rudimentary knowledge of Andrew Wyeth and “Christina’s World.”

The visit was brief, we didn’t even get out of the van, and soon we were back on the road heading to camp.

The story may have ended here, but several weeks later, my father and sisters were in Maine to visit me at camp and I had my father take this same route to camp from Rockland. Remembering and relating the story about the old farm house, my father became very interested and insisted we see the spot. Somehow I found the driveway and soon learned that my father was a bit of a Wyeth fan and thought this part of the trip was a particularly special bonus.

This time I did get out of the car and looked around the house and the adjoining “out buildings;” a series of sheds and small building that appeared to have been used to keep farm animals. The house and property did not appear occupied at that time, but the ground otherwise looked cared for. The multitude of years of brutal Maine weather had left the outside of the buildings in pretty tough shape and it was obviously they had not been painted in many years.

At this point I was still a bit in the fog when it came to Christina’s World. My father had immediately recalled the name of the painting as I described what The Old Man had said. He even knew that Olson was the name of the woman depicted in the painting; Christina Olson lived here. But it was only what happened next that burned the image of Christina and her world into my permanent memory.

It occurred when I happened to look through the window of one of the out buildings. There, affixed to the wall with some simple thumb tacks were a series of sketches of the major elements of the Christina’s World painting. Initially perplexed, I quickly figured out that these must have been the practice sketches Wyeth used to compose the final painting. Drawn in pencil and clearly damaged by rust stains that had bled out of the thumb tacks, the collection included sketches of the house and a few of Christina herself. None of the sketches contained all of the elements together and I realized had perhaps I had an insight into how an artist mind must work; dabbling along with disparate pieces before the whole gestalt is formed.

Being a bit of a typical teenager, I think I jokingly suggested that we break the window and take one or two of the sketches. It clearly appeared that these things had been here for ages and it was not likely anyone would miss them.

Christina’s World is perhaps one of the most memorable and famous American paintings. In the years that followed the experience at Olson House, I became fascinated by Andrew Wyeth and eventually made it to Rockland in 2000 to see Christina “in the flesh” when she was loaned to the Farnsworth Museum from the Museum of Modern Art.

I’ve told the “sketches” story a number of times over the years - to anyone who expressed any interest in Wyeth – but most people acted as though this was all a bit of bullshit on my part. As time went on, and memories faded or became confused with other experiences, I too began to doubt my recall. When, as an adult I began to realize the value and power of this painting, I could not imagine that the artist would have left these sketches in a seemingly abandoned barn in Cushing, Maine. After all, Christina’s World was painted in 1948 which means the sketches would have to have been hanging there for over 20 years when I saw them in 1970. In subsequent trips to the Olson house, the sketches were no where to be found, adding to my doubt.

Sometime in the late 1990s the Farnsworth Museum, opened The Wyeth Center, a former church converted into a special gallery for viewing and learning about Andrew Wyeth, his famous son Jamie and his equally famous father, N.C. Wyeth. Indeed it was at about this time Christina made her return to Maine and over the years the museum has held many special exhibits of Wyeth works.

A few years later, the museum held an exhibit of something extraordinary, something that made me drop everything a take a trip to Rockland. It was an exhibit of preliminary sketches of Christina’s World.

There in Rockland on a rainy weekday afternoon, I came face-to-face with the sketches I had seen hanging in the Olson’s barn nearly 30 years earlier. Meticulously restored, the sketches were now beautifully matted and framed. In the adjoining descriptions, I learned that they had indeed been left to hang in the Olson House as the artist had used that space up until 1969 to paint many other scenes in that locale.

So, it was all true. I did see them. And, now they were owned by a rich Japanese collector and worth millions of dollars.

I told my story, once again, to a docent working at the exhibit. She shuttered at the thought of my adolescent audacity to “help myself” to some of history’s most treasured artifacts. I had to reassure her several times I was only kidding, although I think the security guards might have been keeping an extra eye on me for the rest of my visit.

So, that’s my story and it’s nice to know that it happened the way I remember it. I have often thought of what it would be like to meet Andrew Wyeth and tell him my tale. I think from what I know about him, he’d get a kick out of it. Who knows, maybe he will read this and give me a call. Better yet, Vic will read the story and invite me over for a couple of beers.

More about Christina's World

~jeb

Why I live in Maine

This is shot about 70 miles from when I live, but it explains why I live here.

~j



Sunset above Camden Hills from Till Credner on Vimeo.

It's all my fault...

Okay, okay...all you people in the Northwest US who are complaining about the snow and cold, it's all my fault. You see, I have broken with all traditions and after 54 Christmases in New York City I decided to go and visit my sister in Portland, OR for the holidays. And since I am from Maine, where we nearly always have a White Christmas, I wished to make my visit extra special by arranging with Mother Nature to have a little of the white stuff on the ground for my arrival on tomorrow, Tuesday.

So, it is all my fault and I apologize. I promise that I will take all of the white stuff with me when I leave, but that will not be until December 30th.

Sorry. Merry Christmas.

~jeb

Image from Flickr

Christmas Blog 2008

As I get older, I am terrified at how quickly time seems to pass. I now measure weeks like minutes and gasp at how the last 10 years have shot past like a lightning bolt. It seems like yesterday that we were all worried about Y2K (remember that?) and I simply cannot believe that I have been living in the same place for the last 13 years.

This time of the year is always a reflective time for me. The Christmas cards and blog make the process more formalized, but I think reflection is a psychological process that takes on greater importance the older one gets.

So as I reflect upon 2008 there is the good and the not so good, the happy and the sad, the scary and the comforting, the troubled and the hopeful. I suspect that many of you are nodding in agreement.

The New Year began with the “cold from hell” that seemed to make the extra long winter of 07-08 all the longer. This necessitated several trips to the clinic, meds, more docs, more meds, and a new appreciation for people who experience chronic diseases. It didn’t help that I was running a fever during Super Bowl Sunday and also working at a conference in Rockport. For those who are New England Patriots fans, we want to forget that day. For those who are New York Giants fans, we want to never forget. And, for those like me who are both well, let’s just say I was too sick to care.

We got some sad news in late February that Uncle Bob Brandt had passed away. Uncle Bobby - as I prefer - was my father’s youngest brother and one of the happiest people I’ve ever known. The sadness of his passing was elevated by the opportunity for just about all of the Brandt cousins to get together with Aunt May to celebrate Bobby’s life at a wonderful memorial service that was held in Bristol, Connecticut. Though none of the “Bristol Brandts” live in Connecticut anymore, it was a central location and close to where Uncle Bobby’s many friends were.

You may recall that Sister Mary celebrated her 50th birthday in 2006 and we were not able to pull together the family reunion she had requested until this summer. With the aid of Cousin Ralph and his wife Schley, we were able to secure a beautiful cottage at Point O’Woods in South Lyme, CT. As kids, this is the place where we spent two weeks each summer and so two weeks in August 2008 – 40 years later - seemed like the right thing to do. The Brooklyn Brandts, aided by some of the Wethersfield Brandts, Bristol Brandts, the Ivoryton Astles and the Merry McShanes (aka the Merry Macs from Ossining) helped to make the time special and enhanced the celebration of both Sigrid’s and Mary’s birthdays.

The not so pleasant experiences of the year included one of my two jobs evaporating, astronomically high energy prices and the general queasiness of the economy. All of these came about in the last quarter of the year and has made for some interesting conversation. And that’s all I’ll be saying about that!

I will spare you any political commentary other than to remind you that it was an election year (in case you forgot) and with that there appears to be – at least for now – a sense of hope and renewal. I am not ready to say that there is light at the end of the tunnel, but I am having a good feeling about things to come and I hope that this feeling is contagious.

So here’s to wishing you and yours the Merriest of Christmases and the Hope and Happiness of the New Year. As I extend my best wishes to you and yours, may you all be safe and warm; and may God Bless You.

~john

PS: The image on the Christmas card this year is from some old 8mm home movies that Sister Sigrid converted into DVDs for Christmas last year.

First Snow

I just recorded the first snow of the season in Augusta, Maine. The forecast is that it will be warming during the night and turning to rain. So since it will likely (hopefully) be gone by morning, I took these at 9:00 pm - November 30, 2008.

Enjoy.

~j

Whizzinator

I read this in the local paper the other day though the story is several weeks old. But it "bares" repeating:

The owners of the company that makes the Whizzinator, a prosthetic penis used to mask illegal drug use, were charged yesterday in federal court with conspiracy to defraud the government and are expected to plead guilty.

Gerald Wills, the president of Puck Technology, based in Signal Hill, Calif., and Robert D. Catalano, the vice president, are charged in a 19-page criminal information of conspiracy for selling two different products that mask illegal substances in a user's urine.

The products, the Whizzinator and Number 1, are sold through the company's Web sites.

What the Puck??? Ya can't make this stuff up...Here is the complete story from the Pittsburgh Post Gazette.

~j

Thanksgiving Traditions

I know this is in poor taste (and I am not referring to the photo on this page - talk about A-holes!), but I had to share this story from The Onion with everyone:

26-Year-Old To See Every Asshole He Ever Went To High School With On Night Before Thanksgiving

While not as vicious as these experiences, I too did partake in this annual rite of passage for a number of years following high school. My conditions were enhanced with an annual basketball game at the HS played with a team made up of current faculty and some alums vs. the Varsity. Always an ugly scene.

This was followed by free beer in the cafeteria. At the last one I attended - some time in the early 1970s - I recall watching a group of my "A-hole friends" build a pyramid made out of Schaffer beer cans and then knock them down. It was hilarious at the time. A-holeism was rampant in those days - as now; I suffer from it too.

In later years, this activity was replaced by an annual trip to the Little Neck Inn on Northern Blvd. They served up a free turkey dinner all night on the Wednesday before T-Day. Always nice to prime the pump with plenty of tryptophan .

Gobble gobble.

~jeb

You'll Shoot Your Eye Out Kid...

Ah, it's getting to that time of the year. I saw my first Christmas lights a few weeks ago and it won't be long before we are sitting around the old TV and watching The Christmas Story marathon on TBS.

As a way of getting you all into the nostalgic mood, and to prep you for the 25th Anniversary of said movie, I am linking to a story in today's paper about the real Jean Shepherd and his real house in northwest Indiana. It seems the real Shepherd, just like his cinematic character, did things all kids did; he wrote his name up in the attic of the family homestead located in the Hessville section of Hammond, Indiana.

It's a great little story about the family that lives there now and the history of the house and the Shepherd family.

Enjoy and Flick Lives!

~j

More West Wing

Continuing in the "life mimics art"category, I read in this article about "Rahmbo" Rahm Emanuel stating, "The congressman (Emanuel) himself has been cited as an inspiration for presidential aide Josh Lyman on 'The West Wing.'"

You may recall that the character, played by actor Bradley Whitford, serves as an Deputy Chief of Staff to President Jed Bartlet only to step down (in the last two seasons of the show) to become the campaign manager for Rep. Matt Santos who runs for president. I had forgotten this part... (from Wikipedia)

After Matt Santos is elected President of the United States in a narrow victory over Republican Senator Arnold Vinick, Josh becomes the White House Chief of Staff of the incoming Santos Administration.

Since the TV show The West Wing was full of drama and scary things (assassination attempts, kidnapping of the President's daughter, etc.) I hope that the similarities with the show end here.

Stay tuned.

~jeb

History Made

~jeb

SNL Presidential Bash

Best skit so far...



~jeb

Same Outcome?

A friend just sent me the New York Times article comparing the current presidential campaign in the United States with the plot of the TV show "The West Wing."

First, I have to admit that I loved The West Wing. I remember the coming attractions in the summer of 1999 (hard to believe that was nearly ten years ago...ouch!) The cast, the acting, the directing, the plot, I loved it all. Well, at least at first. I think the show did "jump the shark" in 2001 with its rather bizarre fantasy/reality attempt at making sense of the senselessness of 9-11, but apart from this, it was some of the best television of my lifetime; and I HAVE watched a lot of TV.

I remember running into Jimmy Smits one night on a street in Santa Monica. I was looking at one of those cheeky California dress shops that were over the top in design and outrageous in price. Looking into the window I was muttering to myself and turned to my colleague to made some more disparaging remarks about the absurdity of the shop wares and the apparent idiocy of the locals for shopping in such a place when I recognized Smits standing two feet from me. It caused me to stop mid-sentence and do the proverbial double take. Our eyes met and he had clearly heard what I had said. I smiled and nodded. Years of driving a taxi cab in NYC had taught me to not fuss over celebrities. I knew they generally appreciated to be ignored when in this kind of public setting. I nodded at Smits and he nodded back, his arm clenched around a diminutive young woman who probably loved this dress shop. Later I thought of many wonderful and witty things that I could have said at that moment: "Hey, Jimmy, what's two guys from Brooklyn doing in a place like 'dis?" But I held my tongue and walked off.

So, when Jimmy Smits turned up as the quintessential "minority" candidate to run for the presidency to replace President Jed Bartlet, I felt a sense of completeness and pride. After all, Jed Bartlet and I were practically neighbors. The character played my Martin Sheen was supposed to be the distant direct descendant of the real-life Josiah Bartlett, a signatory of the Declaration of Independence. From 1979-1983, I lived in the town of Bartlett, NH and worked in the Josiah Bartlett Elementary School. It only made sense in my fantasy that my old neighbor from NH would be replaced by my old neighbor from Brooklyn.

When Barack Obama appeared on the scene some 20-something months ago, his eyes firmly on the White House, I immediately thought of The West Wing, President Bartlet and Congressman Matt Santos. Honestly, I secretly thought Aaron Sorkin might have been snorting a little too much of the happy stuff when he came up with that plot line. It was too much of a stretch, even for Hollywood.

In the beginning I thought the same about Obama. Twenty month later and four days before the biggest election in my lifetime I wonder if my fantasy will continue.

We will have to stay tuned to see how the plot turns out. But, I must tell you...I am praying for the same outcome.

Please remember to vote on November 4th. The world is counting on you!

~j

Feeling Patriotic?

We are getting to that time of year when there is a lot of talk about patiotism and duty. Somebody sent me a link to this YouTube video. It seemed to be appropriate to share.

Please remember to VOTE!



~j

Old Fogie?

A year or so ago I read an article about microblogging on the MSNBC blog site. The writer talked about how "old people" don't understand the concept of microblogging. She states:

I’m betting the majority of all these Twitter-hatin’ cranks are war-torn veterans of Web 1.0. They’ve been through the bubble and bust. They experienced the unbridled excitement of wicked-cool technology with all it promises … and they got burned. Bearing all the cynicism that typifies Generation X, these Twitter-haters sneer at un-jaded Generation Y with anticipatory schadenfreude and jealousy. Yes, jealously. Admit it or not, inability to immediately embrace Twitter means you’re old.

As a direct assault on my ego, I took this as a challenge and have been trying to "like" Twitter...with not much success... since then. I admit, I don't get it. Ultimately the author also states, "Twitter, then, is the latest evidence of the Paris Hiltoning of America." God help us.

The other thing I don't get is Second Life and the whole gaming thing. Yes, I was a "junior exploder" as a youth but born way before the age when little boys were given GameBoys for their first birthday. We got Erector Sets. I apparently missed that critical period of gameboy development or "D&D" indoctrination and never have been able to find any value in having an avatar or a magic sword. 

The latest assault on my ego comes in the form of a political commentary blog which has been tearing up the blogosphere in the last two days. From someone calling themselves Hedgehog and using LiveJournal, they have created what is apparently a comical faux IM transcript between and among the presidential candidates of the 2008 election cycle. It is written in the venacular of gamers and using an IM scripting model. I didn't get this either. I am sure there are people out there who understand "I rift in from Sigil!  I'm a Chaotic Neutral Tiefling Barbarian/Monk/Rogue!" - but not me. 

I'm betting none of the presidential characters mentioned in this piece understand it either. Should we be concerned? 

May the Force be With You.

~j

Thomas Friedman's New Book

I just heard that Thomas Friedman, author of "The World is Flat" has written a new book. It's called "The World is Flat Broke."

~j

Everyone Loves Sarah?

From Mainebiz.biz

Week in Review

The debatable: Last night's vice presidential debate caused sparks locally when an intoxicated thief stole a life-sized cardboard cutout of Republican VP candidate Sarah Palin from a Bangor Young Republican's debate-watching party at Bleecher's Sports Bar in Bangor, according to a press release from the Bangor Republican City Committee. The thief ran with Palin to a get-away car in the
parking lot and managed to peel away with Alaska's governor despite a scuffle
with a young Republican.

It wasn't me - I swear!

~jeb