1781 American Revolution

By October 9, the allies began to bombard Cornwallis, with Washington himself touching off the first volley of cannon fire. Day and night, the cannonade exploded with such unrelenting fury that one lieutenant in the Royal Navy said, “It seemed as though the heavens should split.” As the din grew “almost unendurable,” this British officer saw “men lying almost everywhere who were mortally wounded, whose heads, arms, and legs had been shot off. The distressing cries of the wounded and the lamentable suffering of the inhabitants whose dwellings were chiefly in flames” added to the omnipresent sense of danger.

-- Ron Chernow, “Alexander Hamilton”

the elephant ears

A cold front is expected to roll over us today. I should give the elephant ears a watering.

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While Monk is watering the elephant ears, Mother comes up from behind him. She says, "You keep forgetting to water them."

Monk says, "I know. The winter takes me out of the habit. Usually, they are dead through the winter. This year is funny, though. Even though they are not tall and crowded, a good batch continues to come up, and nice and green, and without my watering regularly.

Mother says, "The grass is pretty tall, though."

Monk nods, "I know. I need to start pulling that out, before the spring, when the ears start to get croweded, now that I can easily get at the grass. Of course, you know, it is your fault that we have to deal with this mess."

Mother laughs, shaking her head, "Everything's my fault, always!"

Monk says, "If you knew how to set up a proper gardening plot, we wouldn't have this problem."

Mother walks away, flinging her arms up in exhortation to the heavens, "It's my fault, I'm too dumb!"

Monk points the water hose at her to wet her back. She rushes back at him and starts to pummel him and he tries to shield himself in vain, both mother and son laughing as though the gods were tickling their ribs.

~~~~

Pi says, "Aww, that was sweet!"

Monk says, "Well, we really did have our moments, but... they were just so damn few."

The Bieber Phenomenon

What a neat coincidence...

Just yesterday I saw an ONTD item about Justin Bieber achieving his fifth number-one album. I was shaking my head in disbelief, remembering when he first started showing up on my 'friends page' a few years ago and thinking this must be a joke: such a young skinny kid becoming a pop star?

I remember listening to him and appreciating, I guess, that he can at least carry a tune, but I thought his voice was too weak and scratchy to be a very successful singer. But Bieber would remain a fixture on my friends page; he was not just a flash in the pan, a fifteen-minute wonder, but is evidently here to stay in the spotlight. Then I noticed that there seemed to be a lot of kids this young coming out into the big time. I was sure that I would never understand it. True, I have to think of Elvis, and how the mature people of his time could not begin to fathom what that pelvis-gyrating phenomenon was about, but I can not think of these kids as Elvis, and even though Justin Bieber is now on the cusp of outright manhood, I still cannot get how he can be a mega-superstar.

Anyway, this morning in the Times there is a book review for a novel that essentially creates a fictionalized version of the Bieber story: "The Love Song of Jonny Valentine" by Teddy Wayne. I am curious enough about the Bieber phenomenon that I am thinking it might be fun to read this novel and get a taste of this side of our culture.

(Source: Michiko Kakutani at The New York Times)

Military Marching: The Goose-Step

An interesting historical note on military marching and that loud, thumping step performed in unison, which has apparently been known casually as the goose-step.

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The step — the Prussians called it Paradeschritt or, later, Stechschritt— apparently took root with guards in the Holy Roman Empire, and then found its way to Prussia around 1730. It persisted until 1940, which was the last year the Nazis taught newly drafted soldiers how to goose step, instead shifting to more practical skills. (It was renamed the "Roman step" when Benito Mussolini brought it to Italy in 1938.)

In truth, it’s not a very sensible way to get around (goose-stepping injuries weren’t uncommon among soldiers), but it was taught to instill discipline among the troops. More so, it served well in ceremonial public displays — to demonstrate a leader could turn men into machines. The step invariably involved boots brought down in unison, smartly and loudly, giving a platoon the invincible sound of a well-lubricated machine.

-- Wayne Curtis

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Sylvia

Sylvia gives us a nice riff on a superlative friend, and particularly on her friend's proud tits. It is very fun.

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She personifies the word cute. She’s short and luscious. You notice her short “thumpable” nose, her long lashes, her green eyes, her long waist-length hair, her tiny waist. She is Cinderella and Wendy and Snow White. Her face is cute. She talks cute with white teeth under a bright lipsticked mouth. Her smile is cute, and she is perfectly coordinated. She can skate like Sonja Henie; ski like anyone-who-can-ski-well; swim like an Olympian; dance like some modern creature (I don’t know much about dancing.) She is fluid. She smokes cutely.

You are always aware of her insolent breasts which pout at you very cutely from their position as high and close to her shoulders as possible. They are versatile breasts, always clamoring for attention. Perhaps they are angry at her face which does not notice them, but smiled lashily and innocently above them. They are gay breasts, , pushing out delightfully plump curves in her weak-willed sweaters. They are proud breasts, lifting their pointed nipples haughtily under the black, gold-buttoned taffeta or the shiny green satin. She is a breasty girl, and those two centers of emotion and nerve endings are shields, proud standards to lift to life and to the human race.

-- Sylvia Plath, the Journals, the college years

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Daily Fun

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