dual personalities

Month: May, 2012

May 31, 2012

“Ahab! You Godless sonofabitch!”

by chuckofish

For the Moby-Dick fans among us…

Still from the movie “Warrior”

Aside from the occasional martial arts movie involving either Tony Jaa or beautiful Chinese actors, I am not a fight movie fan. I especially don’t like boxing movies. You can imagine my trepidation last night when I (together with son #2) watched the 2011 MMA (mixed martial arts) movie, “Warrior”, starring Tom Hardy and Joel Edgerton as the sons of Nick Nolte. It was surprisingly watchable, even good. Though the premise seems tired — two brothers overcome major challenges and personal problems including their history with their alcoholic father, to make it to the finals of a big MMA championship only to fight each other — it managed to avoid most of the usual cliches.

For example, the married brother (Joel Edgerton) actually has a good relationship with his wife, but the script-writer didn’t fall prey to the usual ‘good sex = good marriage equation’ to establish the fact, or as an excuse to include gratuitous sex. The other brother (Tom Hardy) is an Iraq War vet, yet PTSD isn’t mentioned even once. Refreshingly, the viewer is allowed to draw his own conclusions. The script and performances are subtle and restrained — no histrionics involved — although there are some good lines and even some humor.

Potential viewers be warned, though. MMA is perhaps the most violent of all combat sports and this movie is sure to make you wince and cringe. Brutal as the action is, however, this is no self-indulgent exploration of flying sweat and crunching bones; no violence for the sake of violence. On the contrary, the director obviously understands the sport and appreciates the skill of the fighters. “Warrior” is definitely worth watching.

And if you’re wondering what Moby-Dick has to do with this post, you’ll just have to watch the movie! Hint: the title of this post is a quote from the movie.

3 Comments
May 29, 2012

The lowly thistle

by chuckofish

Someone brought this vase of thistles to work the other day. He picked them on the side of the highway! Aren’t they awesome?

Often considered a weed around here, the thistle has been, of course, the national emblem of Scotland since the reign of Alexander III (1249–1286). According to legend, an invading Norse army was attempting to sneak up at night upon a Scottish army’s encampment. During this operation one barefoot Norseman had the misfortune to step upon a thistle, causing him to cry out in pain, thus alerting the Scots to the presence of the Norse invaders.

It is the symbol of the Order of the Thistle, a high chivalric order of Scotland

Crests of the Knights of the Thistle in their chapel in St. Giles Cathedral (or the High Kirk) in Edinburgh

According to Wikipedia the thistle is found as well in many Scottish symbols and as the name of several Scottish football clubs. The thistle, crowned with the Scottish crown, is the symbol of seven of the eight Scottish Police Forces (the exception being the Northern Constabulary). The thistle is also the emblem of Encyclopædia Britannica, which originated in Edinburgh, Scotland. Carnegie Mellon University features the thistle in its crest in honor of the Scottish heritage of its founder, Andrew Carnegie.

I started collecting Govancroft “Made in Scotland” pottery for daughter #2 (because Cameron is her middle name) when she was little. I love the funky, stylized and somewhat garish purple and green thistles.

I also have given her some Stangl china in the “Thistle” pattern–very mid-century modern.

Neither, I’m afraid, really grabbed her, but I like them anyway. And, I for one, love the lowly thistle–prickly though they be! Like some people I guess.

8 Comments
May 28, 2012

Memorial day in an election year

by chuckofish

I feel strongly about Memorial Day — it’s a day of reflection and remembrance. We should all take the time to think about the sacrifices men (and women) have made so that we can live as free people. Here’s to all those who have made the ultimate sacrifice, especially great uncle Guy, who was killed in the Argonne Forest, September 26 1918. He was a sweet Vermont boy, whose family never recovered from his death.

Guy Russell Chamberlin

Memorial Day should not be a photo op for campaigning politicians. In this election year I would like to remind everyone of an astute observation that Xenophon made in the 4th century BC about the Spartans, who had been generally decent until they finally defeated the Athenians and found themselves wielding power over much of Greece:

At one time the Spartans would have taken care to ensure that they deserved to occupy the leading position. Nowadays their main preoccupation is just to exercise authority rather than to be worthy of doing so. (Xenophon Constitution of the Lacedaemonians 14)

There have been times in history, though few and far between, when good character mattered more than power or image. Let’s hope that notion makes a comeback.

5 Comments
May 26, 2012

Gone…but not forgotten

by chuckofish

Nell Dickerson’s plea for historic preservation

Having read about it at Garden and Gun, I ordered this book from Amazon on a whim and because I like old, crumbling houses and Shelby Foote. What I find particularly appealing about this book (aside from the extraordinary photographs and the story by Foote) is that it’s not just a eulogy to the idealized old south and great plantation houses, which frankly, I cannot relate to. It is, as it’s subtitle claims, a photographic plea for the historic preservation of everything from small farmhouses, to powder magazines, schools and churches. It is also a plea for the importance of history. As Nell Dickerson writes in the afterword,

Do we want our country to become nothing but a land of strip malls? Let’s honor and preserve the reflections of our collective past that continue to make us a great nation. The battlefield sites, the historic buildings, the writings and photographs we save in our scrapbooks, the great-grand-mother’s hand sewn quilt, the grandfather’s soapstone pipe. Our personal history is part of our national history, and we should pass it to our children with great reverence, because it is not just who we were, but who we are.

Everywhere there are buildings and sites at risk. We can’t save everything, but if we don’t work to save as much as we can, it will all be gone before you know it. History gives us perspective; without it we live in a void. Sapientia per historiam (if I remember my Latin correctly).

3 Comments
May 25, 2012

Knights and squires

by chuckofish

The boy (right) and the boyfriend (left) helped daughter #2 move her big stuff out of her college apartment yesterday.

“Bear me out in it, thou great democratic God! who didst not refuse to the swart convict, Bunyan, the pale, poetic pearl; Thou who didst clothe with doubly hammered leaves of finest gold, the stumped and paupered arm of old Cervantes, Thou who didst pick up Andrew Jackson from the pebbles; who didst hurl him upon a war-horse; who didst thunder him higher than a throne! Thou who, in all Thy mighty, earthly marchings, ever cullest Thy selectest champions from the kingly commoners; bear me out in it, O God!” (Moby-Dick, of course)

Thanks, guys! (For a more detailed post on the day see the boy’s blog.)

3 Comments
May 24, 2012

Coffee spoons

by chuckofish

Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all: —
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.

So how should I presume?

“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”
T.S. Eliot

5 Comments
May 23, 2012

Odds and ends and St. Elmo’s Fire

by chuckofish

It was a big weekend. Daughter #2, as you know, graduated.

Hoops and YoYo talking card

I bought this vintage 1970s needlepoint pillow at an estate sale.

And I finished Moby-Dick.

“One often hears of writers that rise and swell with their subject, though it may seem but an ordinary one. How, then, with me, writing of this Leviathan? Unconsciously my chirography expands into placard capitals. Give me a condor’s quill! Give me Vesuvius’ crater for an inkstand! Friends, hold my arms! For in the mere act of penning my thoughts of this Leviathan, they weary me, and make me faint with their outreaching comprehensiveness of sweep, as if to include the whole circle of the sciences, and all the generations of whales, and men, and mastodons, past, present, and to come, with all the revolving panoramas of empire on earth, and throughout the whole universe, not excluding its suburbs. Such, and so magnifying, is the virtue of a large and liberal theme! We expand to its bulk. To produce a mighty book, you must choose a mighty theme. No great and enduring volume can ever be written on the flea, though many there be who have tried it.” (The Fossil Whale, chapter 104)

A mighty book indeed! You’ll hear more about this book in the days to come. If you are looking for something to read, I can make no stronger a recommendation–read this book!

3 Comments
May 22, 2012

Happy birthday, Laurence Olivier

by chuckofish

Laurence Kerr Olivier, Baron Olivier, OM (22 May 1907 – 11 July 1989) was an English actor, director, and producer. One of the most famous and revered actors of the 20th century, he was the youngest actor to be knighted and the first to be elevated to the peerage.

He’s still my favorite Mr. Darcy. Not to mention my first choice as Henry V. He made his film version of Shakespeare’s historical drama in 1944 during WWII, while England was fighting for its national life, as a fine piece of morale-boosting propaganda. It is brilliant.

This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Crispian:’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

For a birthday treat, watch Olivier’s definitive version of this famous speech.

4 Comments
May 21, 2012

The art of (not) mincing words

by chuckofish

Sylvia Beach, American ex-patriot, minister’s daughter and owner of “Shakespeare and Company”, a bookstore in Paris, decided to rescue Ulysses which had been banned in English-speaking countries, by publishing it herself in France. A prospectus was printed announcing that Ulysses by James Joyce would be published “complete as written” by Shakespeare and Company Paris, in the autumn of 1921. The edition was to be limited to 1000 copies. On the back of the prospectus was a blank form to be filled with the subscriber’s name and his choice of the kind of copy he wanted (there were 3 choices).

Sylvia sent a prospectus to George Bernard Shaw, even though Joyce said he would never subscribe. They made a bet. She received the following reply:

Dear Madam,

I have read fragments of Ulysses in the serial form. It is a revolting record of a disgusting phase of civilization, but it is a truthful one; and I should like to put a cordon around Dublin, round up every male person in it between the ages of 15 and 30; force them to read all the foul mouthed, foul minded derision and obscenity. To you possibly it may appeal as art; you are probably (you see I don’t know you) a young barbarian beglamoured by the excitements and enthusiasms that art stirs up in passionate material; but to me it is all hideously real: I have walked those streets and know those shops and have heard and taken part in those conversations. I escaped from them to England at the age of twenty; and forty years later have learnt from the books of Mr. Joyce that Dublin is still what it was, and young men are still drivelling in slack-jawed blackguardism just as they were in 1870. It is, however, some consolation to find that at last somebody has felt deeply enough about it to face the horror of writing it all down and using his literary genius to force people to face it. In Ireland they try to make a cat cleanly by rubbing its face in its own filth. Mr. Joyce has tried the same treatment on the human subject. I hope it may prove successful.

…I must add, as the prospectus implies an invitation to purchase, that I am an elderly Irish gentleman, and if you imagine that any Irishman, much less an elderly one, would pay 150 francs for such a book, you know little of my countryman.

Faithfully,

G. Bernard Shaw

Sylvia was amused by being called “A young barbarian beglamoured”, but she lost the bet all right.

5 Comments
May 18, 2012

And they call the wind Mariah

by chuckofish

Yesterday at the “Recognition Ceremony for Graduates of the College of Arts & Sciences” they read daughter #2’s name as “Samantha”. Hello. They couldn’t get ol’ Susanna right? Annoying. Well, at least she didn’t trip!

6 Comments