Thursday, March 30, 2006
One of my favorite paintings, Nude Descending a Staircase by Marcel Duchamp.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Had meant to link this piece on Sarbanes-Oxley but forgot, so here it is.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
I visited some people today that I hadn't seen in a long time. The visit was the first that I remember to where they are, that is, a cemetery.
All of my grandparents were there. One of my grandmothers married twice; both husbands were there, along with her sister and her sister's husband. That makes seven in all. My memories as a child of them are kinder in most cases than what I learned as an adult. Two of them I didn't know at all. Others, I thought I knew. Others, I did know.
The one grandmother's first husband, my paternal grandfather, died when I was 5. I don't remember him, but his reputation is that of being hard to deal with, and perhaps, a bit of a womanizer, although I'm not positive on the last point. My father also tells me that he didn't know his father by sight until he was 11 years old, something that clearly hurt my father a great deal. My father recalls being called a bastard as a child, the pain in his eyes is still visible when he mentions it. He's 85 now.
That same grandmother's second husband is a man I grew up loving as my grandfather. I don't remember how old I was when I fully realized that he was not, in fact, my blood ancester, but it didn't matter. He was fun to be with and taught me things the way I imagine a grandfather doing. As an adult I learned that my father disliked him immensely because of his drinking. Both the drinking and my fathers feelings about him were either hidden from me, or I simply didn't, or chose not to, notice. My feelings for the man are still very warm. He, I felt, did the best he could with his problems and always did right by me.
My father's mother was nice to me as a child, but she had a hard edge that I remember: Gossipy, manipulative, sometimes mean. Now, looking back, I think she was quite unhappy, and in general, not a warm or kind person. I don't know how fair that is.
Her sister was a woman whom everyone loved. She loved her cat and her garden. She had a black maid whose name escapes me now, but I remember her as a kind woman as well. Within the framework of how the South was back then, she treated the maid well.
My great aunt's husband died when I was 2. I never knew him, but his reputation is good among the older members of the family. I wish I could have known him.
My mother's parents were difficult. Their marriage was a difficult one, formed to fill needs, of which love wasn't one. Throughout the family, it is said that noone remembers a kind word passing between them. They were not warm people and so as a child, my mother had to exhort us to visit them at all, because my father's mother and second husband lived next door and we, the children, would simply disappear over there instead.
My mother's mother was very bright and motivated in a time when women in the South weren't afforded much opportunity. I believed it frustrated her her entire life and contributed to her being being cold and not particularly kind.
My mother's father was rather harsh, but by all accounts had a very good memory and was disciplined in his approach to life, always putting tools away in the same place, and the like. I am supposedly much like him, or at least, that was said when I was small. He and his wife admirably did their duty to each other but it seemed to be little more than that and was perhaps reflected in their dealings with others.
I was saddened by the visit, knowing how badly many look back on their memory. I don't imagine any of the graves have had flowers since they were first filled in.
When I see the stones there with their names on them, I stop and consider my own life. As a young man I, like most, hoped to accomplish something worthwhile, perhaps evern great. Now I only hope to get out of here without hurting anyone too much.
All of my grandparents were there. One of my grandmothers married twice; both husbands were there, along with her sister and her sister's husband. That makes seven in all. My memories as a child of them are kinder in most cases than what I learned as an adult. Two of them I didn't know at all. Others, I thought I knew. Others, I did know.
The one grandmother's first husband, my paternal grandfather, died when I was 5. I don't remember him, but his reputation is that of being hard to deal with, and perhaps, a bit of a womanizer, although I'm not positive on the last point. My father also tells me that he didn't know his father by sight until he was 11 years old, something that clearly hurt my father a great deal. My father recalls being called a bastard as a child, the pain in his eyes is still visible when he mentions it. He's 85 now.
That same grandmother's second husband is a man I grew up loving as my grandfather. I don't remember how old I was when I fully realized that he was not, in fact, my blood ancester, but it didn't matter. He was fun to be with and taught me things the way I imagine a grandfather doing. As an adult I learned that my father disliked him immensely because of his drinking. Both the drinking and my fathers feelings about him were either hidden from me, or I simply didn't, or chose not to, notice. My feelings for the man are still very warm. He, I felt, did the best he could with his problems and always did right by me.
My father's mother was nice to me as a child, but she had a hard edge that I remember: Gossipy, manipulative, sometimes mean. Now, looking back, I think she was quite unhappy, and in general, not a warm or kind person. I don't know how fair that is.
Her sister was a woman whom everyone loved. She loved her cat and her garden. She had a black maid whose name escapes me now, but I remember her as a kind woman as well. Within the framework of how the South was back then, she treated the maid well.
My great aunt's husband died when I was 2. I never knew him, but his reputation is good among the older members of the family. I wish I could have known him.
My mother's parents were difficult. Their marriage was a difficult one, formed to fill needs, of which love wasn't one. Throughout the family, it is said that noone remembers a kind word passing between them. They were not warm people and so as a child, my mother had to exhort us to visit them at all, because my father's mother and second husband lived next door and we, the children, would simply disappear over there instead.
My mother's mother was very bright and motivated in a time when women in the South weren't afforded much opportunity. I believed it frustrated her her entire life and contributed to her being being cold and not particularly kind.
My mother's father was rather harsh, but by all accounts had a very good memory and was disciplined in his approach to life, always putting tools away in the same place, and the like. I am supposedly much like him, or at least, that was said when I was small. He and his wife admirably did their duty to each other but it seemed to be little more than that and was perhaps reflected in their dealings with others.
I was saddened by the visit, knowing how badly many look back on their memory. I don't imagine any of the graves have had flowers since they were first filled in.
When I see the stones there with their names on them, I stop and consider my own life. As a young man I, like most, hoped to accomplish something worthwhile, perhaps evern great. Now I only hope to get out of here without hurting anyone too much.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Life rolls one and it's mid-March now. Where does the time go?
One week is much like the last: Home with my wife and children, watch a movie, clean up the yard, the house, read to my son, be read to by my daughter, shop a little with the oldest. Throw a little frisbee, go for a walk. Find a wolf spider, a toad, and a cricket outside and marvel at them with the little ones. Find some time to be the husband to the wife, savoring the deliciousness of a hard-fought intimacy with a woman I've known my entire adult life. Drift off afterwards in utter bliss, her warm beside me.
Life is quiet and good.
And yet, I get bored. Restless. Sometimes I'm unable to just exist within its peaceful confines.
What will tomorrow bring?
One week is much like the last: Home with my wife and children, watch a movie, clean up the yard, the house, read to my son, be read to by my daughter, shop a little with the oldest. Throw a little frisbee, go for a walk. Find a wolf spider, a toad, and a cricket outside and marvel at them with the little ones. Find some time to be the husband to the wife, savoring the deliciousness of a hard-fought intimacy with a woman I've known my entire adult life. Drift off afterwards in utter bliss, her warm beside me.
Life is quiet and good.
And yet, I get bored. Restless. Sometimes I'm unable to just exist within its peaceful confines.
What will tomorrow bring?
Friday, March 10, 2006
For whatever reason, this seems interesting to me. I'm wondering how it will turn out.
Ursula K. Le Guin's Always Coming Home is a sort of archaeology of the future that connotes a very particular feel. Very nice reading, I find myself falling into in a slow-moving frame of mind, a relaxed state, one of peace while letting the words drift through my mind.
Ursula K. Le Guin's Always Coming Home is a sort of archaeology of the future that connotes a very particular feel. Very nice reading, I find myself falling into in a slow-moving frame of mind, a relaxed state, one of peace while letting the words drift through my mind.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
After reading an article about Spring Break, I was left thinking: Weren't the people at the AMA ever young? That money was actually spent on a study to reach such a conclusion is a little puzzling to me.
More fun anime: Steamboy.
Project Entopia at this point seems like a dead end. Participation in the ingame professions builds skills to do what? Participate more in the same profession. The problem, for me at least, is that at a low skill level, the amount of money lost is small. At a high skill level, the amound will be large. If anything, as you increase your skill it seems you'll spend more and more. I'm not spending much time in there right now.
Second life is an alternative. It's so open as to give rise to the question: What's the point? Fun things to play with, but probably with a limited time of interest for me.
Well, they're fun while it lasts, I must say that. Interesting, too, prompting a bit of thought about the prospects of a 3-dimensional online world.
More fun anime: Steamboy.
Project Entopia at this point seems like a dead end. Participation in the ingame professions builds skills to do what? Participate more in the same profession. The problem, for me at least, is that at a low skill level, the amount of money lost is small. At a high skill level, the amound will be large. If anything, as you increase your skill it seems you'll spend more and more. I'm not spending much time in there right now.
Second life is an alternative. It's so open as to give rise to the question: What's the point? Fun things to play with, but probably with a limited time of interest for me.
Well, they're fun while it lasts, I must say that. Interesting, too, prompting a bit of thought about the prospects of a 3-dimensional online world.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Here's a good conservative piece on the US - China trade situation. Its premise I recall being echoed in An Empire of Wealth.
And here is an Arab intellectual just ripping a cleric on Al-Jeezera.
Also, a piece on the infamous WMD being moved out of Iraq prior to the invasion with Russian help.
And here is an Arab intellectual just ripping a cleric on Al-Jeezera.
Also, a piece on the infamous WMD being moved out of Iraq prior to the invasion with Russian help.
