Damnable DST

Mark us, along with farmers and others who are up and at 'em on the earlier side of the day, as opponents of Daylight Savings Time.

We run, and winter is always a hard time to maintain the regimen given the cold weather and treacherous footing. The greatest hindrance, however, is the darkness: it's purely psychological, we admit, but it's a huge hurdle. Because we have children at home there is no time to run in the evening and that puts us squarely on a morning routine. The past couple of weeks have been great and relatively bright -- a nice reward for dark January and dim February. Again, with the imposition of DST we run in pre-dawn gloom rather than lovely first light.

Many of our colleagues are giddy about the fact that they get to commute home in daylight . . . we say who cares? Admittedly, it is nice to have light until 9:30 PM; but, after finishing dinner and putting children in bed it's not the most useful time of day for us. Sitting on the porch in the gloaming is nice but we realize no efficiencies from this extra daylight.

We realize that we are in the minority on DST, but in a lifestyle geared to the morning hours, waking up in light rather than gloom is preferable. Perhaps, sometime in the not-too-distant-future time will always be "standard." Until that time however, we'll lay out our running gear now so that it will be easier to find in the dark, tomorrow morning.

Mark Twain Quote

“The mania for giving the Government power to meddle with the private affairs of cities or citizens is likely to cause endless trouble, through the rivalry of schools and creeds that are anxious to obtain official recognition, and there is great danger that our people will lose our independence of thought and action which is the cause of much of our greatness, and sink into the helplessness of the Frenchman or German who expects his government to feed him when hungry, clothe him when naked, to prescribe when his child may be born and when he may die, and, in time, to regulate every act of humanity from the cradle to the tomb, including the manner in which he may seek future admission to paradise.” -- Mark Twain

Read in Patriot Post Brief March 12, 2007

Random Thoughts

We've got a bunch of random thoughts and observations that we've been hashing around since the last post on 3/3, with nothing really coalescing into any sort of coherent post. So, here goes:

Oops!
DeVille Patrick is in trouble again. He made what essentially amounts to a lobbying call to Citigroup and his old pal, and fellow Clintonista, Bob Rubin on behalf of a company for which he served as a board member. The latter is struggling and Citgroup has business interests in the Commonwealth. This side trip into an ethical gray area (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) occurred after DeVille specifically warned his staff to avoid any actions that could be deemed "unethical." Clintonistas know how to skirt the ethics line, and, somehow, to get away with it. Together we can . . .

Jumped the Gun
We spoke too soon in regards to the demise of the ice age. Arctic cold dropped like an anvil on top of Boston where it has remained for the past three days. The once slushy ice sheet in the backyard is now a solid sheet of glistening ice.

Comets on the Curb
Speaking of ice . . . the stuff that's left by the sides of the roads, covered in sand, dust and other substances is something beyond ice at this point. It's more akin to the material that makes up comets.

Doves
There are three nesting pairs of Doves in the backyard who have been riding out the cold hunkered down in some Myrtle and left-over oak leaves. They sit in the sun on the hill at the back of the Quarter Acre for hours on end, puffed up, eyes half closed. When we lived in Brooklyn we had a nesting pair who built a a flimsy little nest on our fire escape. The nest held two eggs, both of which hatched. A crow however came and upset the whole thing, stealing one baby, and knocking the other to a lower roof where the it ended up in a gutter. The parents tended the baby there and the baby dove eventually flew away -- literally making it out of the gutter.

Call of the Wild
There is a cool cat that comes wandering through the yard, on a pretty regular schedule. He's big, he's clean, his gray and white coat is thick. He took a run at the birds on the ground (see, above: Doves). Before we saw him charge down the hill some birds got skittish and started bolting -- we thought that maybe the hawk was coming in for a kill. The cat scattered the remaining birds and squirrels none of whom returned until the next day. We're not at all cat (or even animal people) but hunting, outdoor cats are pretty cool -- mini suburban tigers.

The Ice Age Winds Down

Today was a beautiful, sunny, 50 F day. The ice sheet that covers the Quarter Acre is melting rapidly and the yard is being revealed. Spring is definitely on the way. An interesting leftover from the ice sheet's retreat are large number of rocks and pebbles that washed down the hill at the back of the property. They occupy the area at the foot of the hill and the top of the lawn, piled up like glacial scree.

Another interesting leftover is copious amounts of rabbit droppings. It almost seems as if a whole herd of bunnies sits on our lawn eating and pooping all night. On close inspection the grass is fairly well cropped, and the amount of droppings is staggering. There are also some rather dense tufts of rabbit down. Our theory is that this part of the yard gets sun all year 'round and the snow melts in this area -- whereas much of the lawn sits in the house's shadow and sits under ice still. So, the rabbits come and dine on what they can find, and fertilize as they go.

The Harvard Square Falcon

On Wednesday, 28 February (this is the second post this week to start this way), while sitting in a meeting we happened to let our attention wander and gazed out the window. Across the street from our office, visible outside of the conference room in which we were sitting is a church with a tall stone spire. Perched on the cross atop the spire was the Peregrine Falcon that we had seen hunting at St. Paul's in December 2006. It perched on one of the arms of the cross, surveying the scene, primping and preening for about 10 minutes before flying away to look for breakfast.

Supporting The Wrong Team

Tuesday, 25 February, at lunch, after picking up a sandwich from a Cambridge deli we detoured through Hahvahd Yahd with a couple of colleagues. While hustling across the quad with streams of students we spied four students holding a pair of Palestinian Liberation Organization flags and a sign. I couldn't read the sign, and the students stood peacefully, largely ignored.

We commented to our colleagues that this a great place where you can stand holding the flag of a sworn enemy of our country and no one bothers you. One colleague commented sarcastically that they were exercising their First Amendment rights. We asked what would happen if we stood across from them with an Israeli or a U.S. flag; or let them know that we thought them idiots. Somehow, we knew that our exercise of our own First Amendment rights would not have been viewed as kindly upon HU's hallowed campus.

The third member of our trio is dating a Marine Aviator currently on station in Iraq. She wondered what would happen if she carried the Marine Corp flag across the quad. We laughed, because we all the knew answer.

In a terrific article in today's WSJ, Daniel Henninger writes about this divide between the men and women of our armed forces and the civilian establishment. He relates the tale of U.S. Army Major Bruce Crandall (ret.) and his recent receipt of the Congressional Medal of Honor and the lack of coverage of either the feat or the ceremony in the mainstream media.

Henninger writes the following about the words of Gen. Peter Shoomaker, the Army chief of staff:

"Look at his words and consider whether they still stand today, or whether as a matter of the nation's broader ethos of commonly accepted beliefs, they are under challenge. Gen. Schoomaker said: 'The words of the warrior ethos that we have today--I will always place the mission first; I will never accept defeat; I will never quit; and I will never leave a fallen comrade--were made real that day in the la Drang Valley.'"

Henninger continues:

"The secretary of the Army, Francis Harvey, went on in this vein: 'The courage and fortitude of America's soldiers in combat exemplified by these individuals is, without question, the highest level of human behavior. It demonstrates the basic goodness of mankind as well as the inherent kindness and patriotism of American soldiers.'"

The "warrior ethos" and soldiers as exemplars of "the highest level of human behavior" are certainly not views held by critics of the war in Iraq, the military or the bush administration. Henninger concludes:

"All nations celebrate personal icons, and ours now tend to be doers of good. That's fine. But if we suppress the martial feats of a Bruce Crandall, we distance ourselves further from our military. And in time, we will change. At some risk."

Indeed. To the protesters on the Harvard Quad, celebrate Bruce Crandall. Celebrate the (true) warrior ethos of our military. Honor the exemplars of human behavior who serve in our armed forces -- not the PLO.

Feeds

To all three of our readers, we're sure that you'll notice that we've added a new feed features to this layout. We've made a move to FeedBurner, partly to see what sort of action this site gets, and partly to play around with FeedBurner for professional reasons. If you have a feed to this site we'd appreciate it if you replaced the old Atom feed with the new FeedBurner one. It will be interesting to track stats and see what happens with this site. We have no visions of grandeur, just a desire to play around with the technology available to the hobbyist and professional alike.

Snowman

Another reason to be happy about our move.

Social Justice

A while back we read a fascinating string over on Little Green Footballs about a women's' studies prof at Loyola -- can't recall which one -- and her alleged run-in with some Iraq War Marine Veterans. Women's' Studies + American University Politics + US Marines = no hope of the truth emerging about what really happened.

The course this prof was teaching dealt with "social justice." We didn't think much of it at the time -- except that the prof was a certifiable moon bat -- however until we came across a brilliant commentary on the the new film "Amazing Grace" in the Weekend WSJ Pursuits section. The day before the film had gotten a pretty good review (as a film) in the WSJ Weekend section (Friday, 23 February). The author of the commentary piece blasts the film for ignoring the religious (specifically Christian & Methodist) underpinnings of the Continental, and eventually US, abolition movement. The film frames the abolitionists as secular humanists when in fact they were evangelical Christians who viewed slavery as a sin, not just a matter of politics and social justice.

Reading the comments on LGF, and the above article, helped us to crystallize what has always troubled us about the term "social justice." The term lacks moral underpinnings. Social justice, as preached today, is a political conceit, something to bandy about in the public arena while playing both sides of the game at once and refusing to declare one way or the other -- waiting to see who will win, yet screaming all the time at those they "feel" to be "wrong." Abolitionists like William Wilberforce -- the protagonist in "Amazing Grace" -- engaged their crusades girded by belief in a defined universe, limned by their religious faith, of right and wrong, moral and immoral. Today's crusaders for "social justice" fear such absolutes and eschew faith, never realizing that without these things nothing will ever change if left up to the vagaries of the zero-sum political game.

Sunset

Distance Training

We've started a new blog that will be a team blog and serve as a training diary. It should be a fun experiment and hopefully serve as motivation in our own training.

We've been a runner for a long time, but the move from NYC to Boston has wreaked havoc on our training. After some stern admonishment from our doctor we began training again in earnest about 4 weeks ago and have been running faithfully for that time. You can see the new blog over here:

http://distancetrainers.blogspot.com/

Governor DeVille Patrick

In a previous post we took a swipe at the Governor of the Commonwealth. Well, we're back again with another one . . . This really is too easy, it's like shooting fish in a barrell, or panning the average aspirant on "Idol."

Governor DeVille has proven himself to have nothing substantive to enact during the typical honeymoon at the start of any new term in office, and he has also proven himself completely tone deaf. As this article in today's Boston Globe demonstrates Hizzonner has come to the Golden dome with visions of grandeur, and a penchant for the luxe. The delicious irony of the whole thing is that the so-called-man-of-the-people (as if all of the people have been former appointees at Justice, sat on Coke's Board and worked at white shoe law firms) and political "outsider" (c.f. that darned appointment to Justice)who ran on vague promises of changing the political tone in the Commonwealth has demonstrated himself to be more enamored of the privileges of rank than the work that accompanies the title. Perhaps his legislative agenda will catch up with his tastes, though, given his politics we hope not. Besides, it is highly amusing to watch him fumble and watch the utopians who voted for him become disillusioned.

Why We Moved Back

Sunday, while outside with Child One, playing on the ice sheet that now covers the Quarter Acre we realized why it was we moved back. Watching Child One run, slide and sled on the ice was great. When Mrs. Agricola and Child Two came out we decided, on the fly, to head to a local golf course for some winter fun. We spent an hour or so walking around on our snow shoes -- the first time they've been used this season -- playing in the snow, exploring frozen sand traps and water hazards, collecting pine cones and enjoying the fresh, cold air. While we truly loved NYC and Brooklyn there was no way that we could have decided on the spur of the moment to go play outside and ended up in a wide-open, naturalistic place in less than 10 minutes. It was a wonderful Sunday and it helped to underscore the benefits of the choices that we made to return to Boston -- benefits that are not always readily apparent, but that exist none-the-less.

Our Friends, The Austrians

Another story that we've been slow to pickup on is the emergence of .50 Caliber, Austrian made sniper rifles on the battle field of Iraq. We link to a WSJ opinion piece that appeared in that paper on 16 February.

Apparently, of the 800 Steyr-Mannlicher weapons sold to the Iranians in 2006, about 100 of them ended up on the battle field within 45 days of the sale. They, like the shaped, and more lethal IEDs that have been recently traced to Iranian sources are responsible for 170 US combat deaths and 600 wounded. While the press though impugns the Bush White House, and US intelligence nary a word is spoken about the role of the Iranians in Iraq. Rather than grill Ahmadi-Nejad, Dianne Sawyer appears in head scarf to toss him softballs, and the Democrat party and their employees in the party's media organizations berate the US.

We know we are somewhat behind, but this story has really gotten under our skin. Our soldiers are being killed by enormously lethal weapons, sold by a country who though not exactly an ally is also not a friend, to a country who is our avowed enemy and is then delivering these weapons to the battle space to kill Americans. Where is the outrage? Where is the condemnation of Iran by the majority party in congress (or the minority for that matter)? Maybe once they are finished with their non-binding resolution denouncing the planned surge they will get around to focusing on this issue. Or not.

Tax Freedom, Mass Style

Admittedly, we've been behind in our writing, trapped in February's doldrums. However, as so often happens, the end of the week brings us many things with which to deal.

There is a law in the Mass legal code that compels municipalities to petition the State Legislature for approval of the imposition or raising local taxes/"fees." Govehnuh Patrick wants to relax that rule and make it easier for towns to tax more things. While we applaud his impulse to return power to the municipal level, lessening the centralized governmental control, we feel that it's unfortunate that this has been done for the benefit of more taxation.

It's funny how "tax freedom" can mean one thing to one group, and the complete opposite to someone else. When we read "tax freedom" we thought that Patrick would lessen the levies, or help towns to do so. Silly us. A liberal can not change his spots. No, in Massachusetts, "tax freedom" means the freedom to raise more taxes. The posts on this board make us wonder who votes for these people, and why.

It's certainly not a done deal, thankfully, but it is terrifying as a citizen of the Commonwealth to think that the only thing standing between us and Patrick's socialist utopia is the State Legislature -- hardly a bastion of conservative values. Just before assuming office Bob Travaglini and Sal DiMasi -- majority heads of the State Senate and House of Representatives respectively -- told Patrick in no uncertain terms who wears the pants beneath Bullfinch's Dome. This cowed the Gov for a bit, but he's now beginning to feel more confident, obviously, to try and implement his vision. Perhaps riding around in a state funded chopper helps one feel up to the job.

Missed Opportunity

Though well into our mid-thirties we still enjoy the thought of the snow day. The Boston area -- much of the country from the Midwest east, actually -- got whacked over the past few days. We went to bed Tuesday night with dreams of "working from home" dancing in our head, and the work laptop downstairs in the front hall. Alas, the accumulations were neither earth-shattering nor travel-prohibiting, so we waited out the morning rush and headed in.

Such a disappointing turn of events . . .

Then, upon returning to the Quarter Acre we reveled in the distinct pleasure of shoveling frozen snow for nearly two hours. Despite working diligently, we only managed to uncork the end of the driveway, and, sort of, uncover the rest of it. One bonus, however was that the snow wasn't actually frozen all the way to the ground. No, no, the top was frozen solid, and the layer below was slushy, wet and heavy. February is grand.

The Longest Month

We must admit that we are sinking a bit . . . the inexorable power of the shortest, yet longest, month of the year is grinding us down. Despite enjoying the cold, and embracing the variable weather of winter-Boston there is something psychologically brutal about February. Even though the sun is rising earlier and setting later, the month's 28 days seem exceedingly long. Perhaps it is the fact that when we look outside the Quarter Acre is shrouded in a duo-tone palette of brown and gray. The brutally cold weather the past few weeks has sucked the moisture out of everything and left the lawn dessicated. The trees seem more gray, and diminished than just four weeks ago. The Quarter Acre dwellers do not love February though we take heart in the fact that on Sunday (18 February), pitchers and catchers report to Ft. Meyers, FL and the Red Sox kick-off the 2007 Season. Surely spring is close!

Removing the Monkey

As die hard citizens of Patriot Nation this is a mildly bitter Monday for us. Peyton Manning finally got the monkey off of his back and won The Big One. We watched very little of it -- some of the first half, a bit of the third quarter and the final 1:19 of the fourth. The game held little interest for us.

What was fascinating however was the post-game celebration. It may have been the rain, or it may have been utter exhaustion at finally having lived up to expectations, but the Colts were very subdued. No Colt, however, was more subdued than Manning. There was very little emotion, never mind jubilation, on his face at finally having stuffed his critics. No matter what else we may think of him, he will now, always, be a Super Bowl Winning quarterback.

He appeared nearly uninterested. Maybe he was overwhelmed by the whole thing, but it all seemed quite stilted and unnatural -- as if he were not really there in the moment. Perhaps one of the most illuminating things about the post-game ceremony was Manning's interaction with Bob Saunders -- the Colts' terrific safety. They hugged each other on the podium as if meeting for the first time. It was weird.

One of the most hilarious parts of the post-game celebration happened when CBS's Jim Nantz flubbed the pass-off of the Vince Lombardi trophy. Rather than passing it to Sanders as he was supposed to do, he had Manning pass the trophy to the team with these words: "I'm sure you can't wait to share this with your team." Perhaps he was being ironic, but we doubt it, this is Jim Nantz after all. Does he know nothing of Manning? Has he not been able, all of these years, to see through his man-crush and see that Manning hates his teammates?

We think that this is the reason for Manning's recalcitrance. The Colts' victory in SB XLI was a total team effort. Manning proved again and again that he couldn't win the big one alone as had been prophesied his whole life, and as he had come to believe. He needed his teammates to play brilliantly as well in order to win. As a result, his self image was shattered during this year's playoff run. While a terrific QB, he couldn't do it alone despite what his dad, his pre-pro-coaches, his agent and all the fawning sportswriters in the US had been telling him for his entire career. He won, but he did it as a a teammate and that, for Manning probably removed much of his joy at finally the removing the monkey from his back.

Boston Chaos

So, in the wake of the stupid marketing campaign that snarled traffic and unsettled Bostonians over a wide swatch of the city, we are left with one question: what was TBS thinking?

Obviously, they weren't thinking. As advertising industry workers we wonder how that campaign made it from concepts through final client approval. Throughout the chain of command outrageous decisions were made that lead to this past week's upheaval. The pair of buffoons who are now on trial in Boston are not solely to blame for this and we think that the creative, account, and production teams on the agency side as well as the client-side chain of command should be prosecuted . In essence, this was a conspiracy.

We think that the response of the city of Boston and the Coast Guard was admirable and impressive. They were able to deal with multiple suspicious devices across the city in a seemingly coherent and effective way -- however, if they had been actual bombs then who knows what would have happened had they detonated. The performance of the defendants, yesterday in court, give ample evidence to both their childishness and their attitude towards the terrorist threat (what terrorist threat?). Is there any doubt about how they vote, and how they regard the war on terror?

It should come as no surprise that this campaign was approved by TBS. After all, TBS is but one more brand in Ted Turner's leftist broadcasting empire. Obviously, the anti-war/Bush/conservative/American editorial bias of CNN -- the official broadcast-organ of the Democrat Party -- permeates the other properties in Ted and Hanoi-Jane's media conglomerate.

For us, this incident underscores the lack of seriousness amongst members of the left about the real threat that stands before this country. While many a liberal says there is no threat, and that we are less safe today than we were four years ago (Bush's war-mongering and all that) the appearance of the marketing devices obviously struck a raw nerve. People are on edge whether they admit it or not -- even in liberal Boston, debarkation point for the two planes that felled the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. Given the attitudes of the Solon's of Atlanta towards the country's anti-terror efforts, it's not surprising that this campaign "went live."

Liberal Wit

One of the great joys of commuting around the Commonwealth is that we get to see all of the hilariously witty, liberal bumper stickers.

Don't Blame Me I Voted for Kerry!
Somewhere in Texas a village is missing its idiot.
Bush, like a rock, only dumber.
More trees, less Bush.

Then, this one, seen today, the crowning achievement of liberal bumper sticker wit:

Where are the Republicans taking us and why are we in this handbasket?

None of these are funny. None are witty. None are that interesting. If you replaced Kerry, or Obama, or Hillary for Bush, and changed the state to match, lefties would get mad and say that conservatives are puerile and stupid. Yet, they cover their vehicles in this inanity and somehow think that they are being funny. The "don't blame me" bumper sticker is a holdover from the first Clinton Presidency. It was only mildly amusing then, and now, co-opted for use against Bush it lacks a certain impact, yet, there it is, shouting in our face at many a stoplight.

These silly little liberal tropes really sum up for us the inanity of the left and its lack of seriousness. All protest and no program. Sound and fury . . . signifying nothing. We wonder why the level of debate in this country is so low. The answer is on the leftist's SUV in front of you at the light.

Mass Weather

As evidenced in this photo post it's cold today in Massachusetts. It is the first truly cold day of the year and of the winter. Despite weeks of warm, wet, strange weather prior to today, people are crying about this short cold snap. They also complained about the mildness and wetness. They will complain, no doubt, in the summer when some insufferable weather descends upon us in that season.

To live in Boston is to live in a place of highly variable weather. We will not go so far as to say "extreme," but definitely variable. Boston is far enough north that it gets blasted with some very arctic air in the winter -- as it is today. However, it is not so far north that it avoids stretches of oppressive heat and humidity each summer. This makes residents of this region quite hardy, and adaptable, we think.

When the first sub-50 degree day arrived in NYC many residents broke out the down coats and wrapped their faces in scarves. This is not so in Boston. There are many Bostonians, even today, wearing light coats, with faces uncovered, going about their business. We admire this stoicism and take pride in it. We enjoy it when the the weather is this cold. We also like it when it gets very hot in the summer. This is what the seasons are all about, this is why we live here.

On another level, days such as today make us grateful for what we have -- a house, 5/8 of a tank of home heating # 2, and food on the table. We are blessed. We also appreciate the cold because it's a bit jarring to the system, it knocks us out of our complacency and imposes some discomfort on lives that are often too comfortable. Bring on the cold.

Minus 4 Fahrenheit

The coldest morning yet on the Quarter Acre.

Winter Morning

Winter finally comes to Boston.

End of Day

Winter Beach

Off Season

Save Us From Oursleves

Two thing caught our attention today. The first was that a proposed law in Bangor, ME became actual law. People smoking in cars with children under 18 years of age can be ticketed and fined $50. The state of California is mulling over an idea to ban spanking of children under four years of age.

We see people smoking in cars with kids and think it somewhat dumb -- though the research behind second hand smoke is shaky at best, and we don't smoke, why take a chance with your kids. Telling people they can't spank their kids is silly. How and when to discipline children is a parent's prerogative. Also, there are already rules that define abuse and prescribe punishments for it. Is this rule necessary? If someone spanks their child enough to warrant a trip to an ER they should be prosecuted under the existing rules.

We are not sure where stand on spanking. It has not yet been necessary on the Quarter Acre. We know that we received a couple of spankings in our youth. It was a painful, but effective way to make a point. We don't think that we suffered any long-lasting physical or psychological effects. We don't hate our parents, nor do we blame them for anything. How could the state have prevented the spanking? This measure is one of those typical, liberal moves meant to make the sponsoring legislator feel good about themselves and appear to be protecting the constituents of the home-district by imposing an unenforceable law on the populace.

It strikes us as a direct violation of privacy to say we can't spank a child or smoke in our cars with our children. When will they pass a law that says we can't smoke in a house with children under X-years of age? Where is the outcry? Why does such inanity not arouse the public. Most people we bet simply shrug, say "that seems silly, but they mean well, it's for the children after all," and move on. Never do we realize that one more regulation has been enacted that chips our rights, all in the interest of protecting us from ourselves.

Growing the Middle Class

Be very afraid. With the commencement of the 110th congress one of the stated goals of the newly minted Democrat majority is to help the middle class grow. Oh no. If you want to do that, then get out of the way. Reduce regulations on people's businesses. Preserve the Bush tax cuts. Let people keep more of their money. Get an economic clue and learn that the government doesn't help to build up business and make people rich -- people permitted the freedom to spend their capital as they see fit do.

Since we're talking about the middle class let's define it. At what income level does the middle class start? Where does it end? While we are at it, please define "Rich." At what income level does one become rich? Does exiting the middle class (upward exit, of course) mean we are now rich? We've seen rich defined as $100K annual income. For a married couple filing their taxes jointly, that's not exactly what we'd call rich. It's time for the Democrats to stop playing class games, define the terms they are using and lead the country. It's what they've been craving since 2000, now is their chance. However, based on a goal like "growing the middle class" we fear we are in for typical American-progressive squishiness that only succeeds in growing the size of government and creating an ever larger bureaucracy -- not exactly something we need.

Epiphany

When Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, in the days of King Herod, behold, magi from the east arrived in Jerusalem, saying, "Where is the newborn king of the Jews? We saw his star at its rising and have come to do him homage." When King Herod heard this, he was greatly troubled, and all Jerusalem with him. Assembling all the chief priests and the scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They said to him, "In Bethlehem of Judea, for thus it has been written through the prophet: 'And you, Bethlehem, land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; since from you shall come a ruler, who is to shepherd my people Israel.'" Then Herod called the magi secretly and ascertained from them the time of the star's appearance. He sent them to Bethlehem and said, "Go and search diligently for the child. When you have found him, bring me word, that I too may go and do him homage." After their audience with the king they set out. And behold, the star that they had seen at its rising preceded them, until it came and stopped over the place where the child was. They were overjoyed at seeing the star, and on entering the house they saw the child with Mary his mother. They prostrated themselves and did him homage. Then they opened their treasures and offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they departed for their country by another way. When they had departed, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, "Rise, take the child and his mother, flee to Egypt, and stay there until I tell you. Herod is going to search for the child to destroy him." Joseph rose and took the child and his mother by night and departed for Egypt.

Matthew 2:1-14

The Real Estate Knockdown

Our town is filled with knockdowns -- those unfortunate, less-than-spectacular but solidly built mid-century American homes that don't meet Americans' current definitions of real estate grandeur, success and the good life. In place of the older, more modest homes, owners, builders and speculators build McMansions, replete with farmers' porches, multi-car garages, gas fireplaces and a total lack of consideration for lot size, landscaping and even coherent roof lines.

On the lot next to the Quarter Acre, a quarter acre lot itself, stands a large house. It's not a bad looking house, and the interior is actually fairly nice. However, not six feet from the back wall of the house stands a retaining wall that holds back a hill that was cut into to make room for the foundation. As a result, there is no real yard in which kids could play. Yards, apparently, are no longer part of the American Dream -- just really large houses.

On a lot down the street some neighbors tore down their modest Cape to build a new home. The exterior is basically complete -- walls, glazing, roofing and siding are in place. The interior work is about to commence and from what we see as we drive by the new place looks to be a nice house. A bit of interesting back-story shows how common the knockdown and rebuild is in our area. When the owner of the house was sharing the plans with neighbors at a cookout, a nine year old girl looked at the plans and said that the house looked big for the lot. She had a point.

Another bit of startling commentary on real estate came this fall, from Child One. She mentioned that if you build a house and don't like it, you can always knock it down and start again. On some level, houses have evolved into disposable assets, even in the mind of a toddler.

When we were children we never saw a blueprint in person, much less understood how to translate what was on it to real world space. We also certainly had no idea that you could knock down a house. Kids who can read a blueprint and understand houses to be impermanent objects demonstrate a tremendous change in perspective. Obviously, not everybody knocks down their solid little house to build a big dream house, but enough do that they have altered the next generation's understanding of "House" -- and possibly even "Home." This altered understanding will transform further the American suburb as this younger generation grows up and buys property.

A Really Great Article

Over on ESPN.com, in his weekly column, John Buccigross has a really nice exchange with a member of the 10th Mountain Division, currently based at Bagram Air Base, Afghanistan.

We are hockey fans on the Quarter Acre. We are fans and supporters of the US Military (though we never served, we have the greatest respect and admiration of the men and women of our military who serve in harm's way). We are a fan of John Buccigross. His passion for the game of hockey is unbridled, but not more so than his passion for people. He is a true voice of the fan, a.k.a the ordinary guy. He writes sentimentally, openly, unapologetically, and un-cynically, as a fan, for the fans. For that we thank him. "Bucci" is always worth a read, but the aforementioned lead-in makes this week's installment one not to be missed.

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year to any and all Quarter Acre readers (all two of you). May you and yours have a happy, healthy and prosperous 2007.

The Post-Christmas Hangover

Is there any tougher week of the year to work than the week between Christmas and the New Year? We don't think so. It is not only hard to motivate to do work-related things after the heavy focus on hearth and family, it is hard to find people to do them -- except for a silly few, the author included, offices are empty. Perhaps this emptiness is good -- the trouble with finding people to do things, aside -- because Christmas, as much fun as it can be (and it was a very fun Christmas on the Quarter Acre) is exhausting. The preparation, the parties and the cleanup leave us feeling toasted. It's hard to shake off the hangover that lingers after Christmas and focus on the work-a-day details that make the boisterous and present-strewn-celebrations possible.

So, we return to the grind with eyes-all-a-bagged, mind cloudy (at best) and nothing to look forward to except taking down the decorations, January, February, March and at least half of April.

Birth of The Savior

While they were there, the time came for her to have her child,
and she gave birth to her firstborn son. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn. Now there were shepherds in that region living in the fields and keeping the night watch over their flock. The angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were struck with great fear. The angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger." And suddenly there was a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel, praising God and saying: "Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests." When the angels went away from them to heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let us go, then, to Bethlehem to see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us." So they went in haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the infant lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known the message that had been told them about this child. All who heard it were amazed by what had been told them by the shepherds. And Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart. Then the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, just as it had been told to them.

Luke 2:6-20

To Bethlehem

In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that the whole world should be enrolled. This was the first enrollment, when Quirinius was governor of Syria. So all went to be enrolled, each to his own town. And Joseph too went up from Galilee from the town of Nazareth to Judea, to the city of David that is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and family of David, to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child.

Luke 2:1-5

The Dream

Now this is how the birth of Jesus Christ came about. When his mother Mary was betrothed to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found with child through the holy Spirit. Joseph her husband, since he was a righteous man, yet unwilling to expose her to shame, decided to divorce her quietly. Such was his intention when, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, "Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home. For it is through the holy Spirit that this child has been conceived in her. She will bear a son and you are to name him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins." All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: "Behold, the virgin shall be with child and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel," which means "God is with us." When Joseph awoke, he did as the angel of the Lord had commanded him and took his wife into his home.

Matthew 1:18-24

The Annunciation

In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee named Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin's name was Mary. And he came to her and said, "Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with you!" But she was greatly troubled at the saying, and considered in her mind what sort of greeting this might be. And the angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a Son, and you shall call His name Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High; and the Lord God will give to Him the throne of His father David, and He will reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of His kingdom there will be no end." And Mary said to the angel, "How shall this be, since I have no husband?" And the angel said to her, "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the Child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God. And behold, your kinswoman Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month with her who was called barren. For with God nothing will be impossible." And Mary said, "Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be done to me according to your word." And the angel departed from her.

Luke 1:26-38

Dark Lights (2) & Decorations

Our Brother has a theory about the intensity of the Dark Lights: being LEDs they have no white in them. Traditional lights have a filament that burns white and shines through either clear or colored glass. LEDs have no white to soften their glow and lend warmth to the night. We like this theory, but still think that the Dark Lights miss the point.

The NY Times has an amusing article about the blow-up Santas, polar bears and other "seasonal" characters who populate suburban lawns in ever-greater numbers. We are not sold on these decorations and think that they, like the Dark Lights, miss the point. While we prefer more traditional Christmas decorations, we do see some humor in these blow-up behemoths (there is one giant snow man snow globe, with swirling "snow" and a lit-and-star-bedecked-Christmas tree within the globe, that must be 12 feet tall not far from the Quarter Acre) and know that Child One takes tremendous delight in riding around to look at character strewn lawns this time of year.

Dark Lights

With the Christmas Season in full swing, and houses bedecked in their holiday finest, we've noticed many shrubs lit by super-bright LEDs. The intensity of these lights is startling. They burn like little suns but cast off little ambient light and accentuate the darkness rather than alleviate it.

This seems to miss the point of the Christmas light. Traditional Christmas lights cast a warm glow and brighten dark winter nights. They serve as beacons in the gloom to guide visitors to welcoming homes -- a fitting symbol of the season's true meaning.

Decorating Disaster

Last night, we decorated the Quarter Acre Christmas Tree. Child One unwrapped ornaments, commenting on the beauty of each, and hung them with glee, absolutely enjoying the moment. This is the the first year that she has been able to actively assist in the hanging of ornaments and it was one of the most enjoyable tree decorating events of our young family's history.

We decorated the tree twice last night. We also re-strung all of the lights.

While taking stock of the gift inventory in the basement, we heard the bouncing and popping of hard objects above our head. We ran upstairs to discover that the Quarter Acre Christmas Tree had toppled over, shattering many ornaments, spilling tree solution all over the rug, and generally creating holiday mayhem in the living room.

We are unsure of what made the tree topple, though we have a theory. We had placed some newspaper beneath the tree-stand to absorb any liquid that might spill during watering. Though the stand seemed stable it was obviously out of balance for when laden with lights and ornaments . . . It was ugly. Broken glass, pine needles and ornaments littered a soaked rug.

We picked up the broken glass, and tried as best we could to dry the rug. The physics of this event are intriguing to a non-scientist. Many of the balls on the sides of the tree landed on the floor but their hangers remained in place. The light strands dislodged from their original locations and clumped together in disheveled bands. Evidently, this fall generated a lot of force -- too much, at least, for tree lights and decorations. We lost some beautiful ornaments, one of which was a an antique purchased in Rhinebeck, NY several years ago. There is something extra-disappointing about breaking an ornament.

So, we restrung the lights -- they look better and are applied more rationally than before -- rehung the surviving ornaments, and went to bed when done at 1:30 AM. For the first time this year it finally felt like the holidays.

Christmas Tree Lighting

Everyone we know within our generation has a story of helping their father string lights around the tree and being told to "pass me the lights! Pay attention! Don't bump into the tree! Give me some slack!"

Now that we are a homeowner, responsible for purchasing and lighting our own tree, we laugh when thinking about our role as a lighting assistant, and understand completely why it was such a trying experience for our father. Because Child One and Child Two are too small to help, lighting the tree is a solitary endeavor with many spacing consultations and other internal reviews with Mrs. Agricola, and Child One.

From having rolled lights onto reels in the wrong direction at the end of last year (more on that in another post,) to seeking out the dead bulb that shorted half a string of lights, this year's Christmas tree lighting was an epic endeavor. What we had hoped would take only an hour ballooned into a three hour effort that pushed the decorating process into a multi-day affair. A tradition of sorts -- similar to being told to "pass me the lights!" -- has been born on the Quarter Acre. Someday, we're sure that we'll look back on it and laugh.

Encountering the Raptor

Despite living in NYC for the better part of a decade we never saw the famed nesting- pair of Red Tailed hawks that lived in Central Park; nor the Red Tails who were evicted and later reinstated at a tony address on 5th Avenue; nor the Peregrine Falcons who supposedly hunted at will throughout Midtown; nor the trained falcons used to control pigeons in Bryant Park. It took our move to Boston to start encountering urban raptors.

Just last week, while walking near my office a sudden movement high atop a bell tower caught my eye. The pigeons who roost up there suddenly took flight and started flying around the tower in large swooping arcs. Within moments a Peregrine Falcon coasted into view looking for lunch. The small bird peeled away and about three minutes later it reappeared, approaching the bell tower and potential lunch on a new vector.

At another job, in one of Boston's tallest buildings, we had the good fortune of sitting in a cube with a westward facing window -- looking out towards Fenway Park and Boston's western 'burbs. A Peregrine Falcon lived nearby for we saw it almost daily, hunting while riding the updrafts that scoured this structure. Our perch was high enough that at times we could see the falcon from above.

As much as we might have wanted to we did not see either of these falcons make a kill. We did witness a kill on the Quarter Acre in the spring of '05. One morning, while holding Child One by a window, watching birds on the feeder, all of the avian diners bolted in a panic. Within a moment a hawk dove past the feeder, talons out, and landed on the lawn. It came so close to the feeder that at first we thought it had picked off an unfortunate sparrow. However, as it flew away, after standing proudly in the middle of the lawn, most-definitely occupying the top of the food chain on the Quarter Acre, we saw that it had nailed a ground-feeding chipmunk.

This same hawk has flown by our porch -- at eye level, close enough to hear the air moving over its body -- and we frequently hear it while working in the yard, chirping and screeching from its nearby, but unseen nest. Last spring this raptor had a partner and we watched them soar high, high above us, nearly transparent in the sky, but highly audible as they screeched to one another while making lazy circles.

Spending as much time as we do commuting to our job we also notice many hawks perched above the highways and byways of the Commonwealth. Two hawks hunted from neighboring lampposts over I-95/128 in Woburn. One was struck by a car -- we saw its carcass by the side of the road in the late summer -- leaving only one hunter to scan the shoulders and median strips of that road. A giant hawk perches atop a lamp post along Soldiers' Field Road in Brighton, hunting along the obviously abundant banks of the Charles River.

The overt presence of these amazing predators is one more exhibit in a growing body of evidence that nature is adapting and growing ever more comfortable living in close proximity to humans. Many might argue that Man encroaches ever-more into nature, and forces this adaptation. Our neighborhood, however, was built in 1954, and is therefore, not a recent encroachment into some pristine wilderness area. Despite the seemingly settled nature of our man-made environment we are surrounded by the eternal struggle between hunter and hunted, entropy and stasis. It would not take much for our environment to revert to its original state as evidenced by the raptors that live comfortably in our midst.

Seasonal Opening

This past weekend,in addition to rekindling our love affair with the Martini we began the process of decorating the Quarter Acre for Christmas. Greenery was purchased for the outside of the house. Lights were placed in windows, and on Sunday a yard-tree was dressed in lights, a spotlight was placed in the lawn to shine on the front door and the Christmas season officially opened on the Quarter Acre.

Child One helped us with the window lighting which was very fun. The house is really coming to life, and assuming a magical air. This is one of our favorite times of year on the Quarter Acre. A week after putting the yard to rest until the spring, the focus shifts to the house, the home and the interior life of the Quarter Acre. We take comfort, and delight in this transition which is so fitting at this time of year.

Rekindling An Old Flame

This past weekend, in the midst of starting the Christmas Season by decorating the house with lights and greenery, we created and knocked back a couple of delicious Martinis. In the past this was the defacto, winter drink of choice on the Quarter Acre. However, due to unknown reasons the Martini has not been agreeing with us and has fallen out of favor. Perhaps our body is telling us that ingesting three shots of Gin, one shot of Dry Vermouth and olives is not a great idea because even one Martini would leave us feeling less than delightful the following day.

Despite all of this, we mixed up two Martinis this weekend -- one on Saturday, the other on Sunday. They definitely agreed with us this weekend; and, as the Christmas season truly gets under way, an old flame has been rekindled. The turning point in this relationship happened about two weeks ago. While out to dinner we ordered a Martini and received instead a glass of chilled gin containing some olives. This irked us. Recipes are written for a reason and are meant to be followed. If we wished to drink chilled gin and olives we would order that.

The abominable drink that we received motivated us to try out our tried and true recipe (Thanks to DrinkBoy for being our guide and our high priest of classic and classically prepared cocktails) and give our preferred winter beverage a new chance. The old flame is back and burning brightly. Just in time we say, as the world enters the darkest time of year.

Seasonal Closure

Rather than spend the weekend after Thanksgiving battling the masses for silly sale prices on silly things we don't need (at Christmas time or any other time of year for that matter) we spent the weekend around the Quarter Acre shutting down the yard for the season.

We've raked the yard a couple of times this year, mowed the lawn close, applied the winterizer and basically kept things looking sharp. This past weekend was the final push. At the back of the property is a hill that runs the entire the width of the plot. Atop this hill sit several oak trees that produce copious amounts of acorns that litter the lawn and leaves that blanket the hill.

The leaf-blanketed hill is messy-looking, and we spent 6 hours raking it, bagging the leaves and taking the refuse (23 thirty Gallon bags) to the giant leaf pile at the town dump. It was one of the best days yet on the Quarter Acre -- a crisp, beautiful, November, Saturday, outside, engaged in good honest hard work that added a blister to the inside of our thumb, and a new layer of dirt and scuffs to our boots. Additionally, we cut the dead Hostas, Astilbes and other perennials to the ground; raked out beds; mowed the lawn for the last time (mainly to pick up stray leaves); put away the gas grill and the Adirondack chairs and disposed of a completely rotten chimenia.

The yard is neat and trim and looks as spare as the leafless trees that surround it. There is a beauty now to the Quarter Acre that is both of and from the season that increasingly settles upon it. Stripped down, dormant and waiting, the yard is closed for the season, anticipating the Spring and the beginning of next year's ministrations.

Crazy Friday

A friend of Quarter Acre asked us to write about the first shopping day of the 2006 Christmas Shopping Season. This friend was horrified by of our fellow Americans and described them as "greedy" as they bum-rushed the gates of stores to scoop up holiday bargains. We certainly agree that the behavior of our fellow Americans on this day is disturbingly boorish. However, we're not completely sure that it's evidence of greed, per se, but rather misplaced priorities and consumerist venality.

One thing that we've always thought is that people like to shop on the day after Thanksgiving because they want something about which to talk and complain. Americans love to tell stories that involve distress and discomfort. For us, there is nothing more uncomfortable and distressing than the thought of arising at 5:30 AM to push and shove strangers at the door of a store to buy things that will be thrown out, disused and forgotten within weeks of their receipt -- because, honestly, isn't that the fate of most of the things we buy in the big box stores? Yet, each weekend immediately following Thanksgiving, the media, and our personal spheres are filled with tales of shopping-woe and mall-based-misery arising from the "Official Kickoff to the Shopping Season." If the so-called savvy-shopper doesn't know that this weekend is going to be miserable by this point then there is not much that we can do to help them; and, if savings of 50% - 70% off regularly priced items don't mitigate the agony then is Thankgiving-Friday shopping really worth it? What's wrong with internet shopping?

Thanksgiving Eve

Today is Thanksgiving Eve, the true kickoff to the Holiday season. This is one of our favorite days of the year, and the start of one of the most enjoyable times on the Quarter Acre. There is much work to be, much to be prepared over the next month, but it is all fun and all driven by love and cheer. We love that the darkest, coldest time of year brings this period of heightened focus on family, home and charity -- the old boys who set up the Ecumenical calendar knew what they were doing all right. As we try to do each day, but particularly on Thanksgiving, it is fitting to give thanks for all that we have, especially:

Family
Friends
Job
Home
Food on the table
Our Armed Forces
Being an American

Happy Thanksgiving to all who may stumble upon the Quarter Acre.

Milton Friedman, RIP

“Those of us who survive, who remain in this fight can—and should—take courage from [Friedman’s] example. Few of us will live as long; even fewer will be able to match his achievements. Still, we can continue the struggle, do our part to leave the world a bit better, striving always to advance freedom; and, in doing so, we will benefit greatly from the intellectual ammunition and the personal example he leaves us. For that and much more, we should all mourn and honor this great man.”
—Fred L. Smith, Jr., President, Competitive Enterprise Institute

“[Milton Friedman was] able to thoroughly discredit the idea, common since the Great Depression, that capitalism is inherently flawed and requires the ‘fine tuning’ of government to avoid excess and disaster. This has been the central conceit of the Keynesian state, administered by educated elites, adjusting tax-and-spending policies to tame the business cycle... Friedman attacked these beliefs at their root. He ambitiously argued that the Great Depression was not caused by the ‘defects’ of capitalism but by government incompetence. Going back to the 1930s, he demonstrated that the one-third fall in GNP was due to a one-third cut in the money supply from 1929 to 1933. ‘The Great Depression in the United States, far from being a sign of the inherent instability of the private enterprise system, is a testament to how much harm can be done by mistakes on the part of a few men when they wield vast power over the monetary system of the country’.”
—Ed Feulner, President, the Heritage Foundation

By Hand

One of our favorite things about the suburban transition is that the domicile is in need of work. Now, we're not talking about major renovations, but rather about cosmetic changes -- painting, cleaning, yard work. We just finished painting the dining room. This necessitated patching walls, the ceiling, sanding, cleaning, priming then the application of two coats of paint to all surfaces in the room (yes, we painted the ceiling and all the woodwork, if you don't do that, don't paint the room).

There is a lot of woodwork in our dining room -- chair rails, base boards, crown moldings and three door frames, a window frame and a neo-Classical styled corner hutch -- and it grew tedious near the end but looking at the finished product is gratifying. The job took several nights of work, after the day job and after the children were put to bed. A professional could have done it faster -- though not necessarily better -- and we would have been free to remain forever ensconced before the video altar. But, we took matters into our own hands, and got dirty, got paint splotched, and started to work on the callouses, toughening up relatively pink office hands.

One of the realities of living in a service based economy is that we can pay others to do nearly everything for us. Others can paint our dining rooms, mow our lawns, cook our meals and even train our children to pee in the pot. We like to do manual labor around the Quarter Acre. It reminds us of where we come from. It permits us to connect with our surroundings; use our hands on something more than a computer keyboard; take greater ownership of our property.

With Gratitude

“War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things; the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks nothing worth a war, is worse. A man who has nothing which he cares more about than he does about his personal safety is a miserable creature who has no chance at being free, unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself.” —John Stuart Mill

With deepest gratitude and respect we thank America's Veterans, and her active duty troops. You are in our thoughts and prayers this Veterans' Day, and every day.

Next Blog & Portuguese Blogs

One of our new favorite web pastimes is to come onto Blogger and keep hitting the "Next Blog" button. It's fascinating what you bump into. One thing that amazes on a daily basis is the number of Portuguese-language blogs that we encounter. We're unsure how the randomizer works on this button and what the criteria are, but we've never blogged about Portugal, or Brazil, though we have visited the former and loved every moment of the trip. Perhaps the next blog button has some sort of psychic powers, and can read our mind and thus connect us with people who also have a connection to Portugal. It would not surprise if Google had this in Beta . . .

Together We Can . . .

That was/is the motto of the Commonwealth's first African American governor. It's a terrific marketing line. It says much and says nothing. It's brilliant and permits the reader to finish the line and therefore believe that the coming administration will fulfill his or her governmental dreams. The Patrick campaign never permitted itself to be defined, to take a stand or to declare its beliefs. Instead, it used its brilliant slogan to make the electorate believe that anything is possible. It's a great message, it's a great slogan but unfortunately the lack of substance, and the apparent lack of a plan behind the slogan don't bode well for the Commonwealth which is now a true, one party state.

Kerry Healey did not deserve to win. She ran an abysmal campaign that focused on one small part of Patrick's past. It was illustrative of the type of governance that we can now expect, but it never helped to define her, or help the electorate see how her proposed vision was better for the Commonwealth. Locally, nationally, and even more forbiddingly, internationally, it was a bad election day for Republicans. Like Kerry Healey they didn't deserve to win. They have spent the past two years aping Democrats -- spending like drunken sailors -- and failing to uphold the conservative credos that swept them to power in 1994.

A person close to us thinks that this election spells the end of the conservative movement and that conservatives will be out of power for at least another 12-15 years. We disagree with that, and take heart in the fact that conservatism actually seems to be on the rise, last night's results not-withstanding. It was a bad night for Republicans, not conservatives. Many of the Democrats who challenged and won were not Howard Dean/John Kerry leftists, but conservative, pro military, pro-religion candidates. The conservative movement will carry on. The Republican congressmen and senators of the 109th congress will not. This is a painful lesson for the Republican party, but perhaps they will return to their conservative roots and remember what it is that first brought them to power. Together we can . . .

A Thousand Words

This is an image of the Korean Peninsula, at night, released by the USDOD.

Front Lawn Activism

As the country approaches the 2006 mid-term elections we can't help but notice the blossoming of lawn signs proclaiming fealty to one candidate, or one cause or another. Throughout our neck of Metro-Boston the liberal Democrat candidate Deval Patrick seems to be the darling of our neighbors -- his dominance in opinion polls echoed by the prevalence of his campaign signs that have sprouted on suburban lawns like dandelions in July.

We do not begrudge our neighbors the opportunity to tout their man, and support a candidate who will finally move the Commonwealth into the single party model of the old USSR. Surely, a socialist utopia will ensue. We have no problem with any statement of political affiliation, but we chuckle over the following, prevalent political signs:

War is NOT the Answer.
A Call to Our Conscience: Save Darfur.org

These are statements from the same chapter of the liberal rhetorical playbook that reflexively promotes "dialogue" over fisticuffs, in all instances. These signs express a cherished liberal ideal that talk will fix everything. No doubt, dialogue has reigned in Iran's nuclear aspirations and subdued Mahmoud Ahmadinejad; The Six Party Talks prevented the N. Korean nuclear test of 9 October 2006; negotiation has convinced Omar al Bashir of Sudan to spare the lives and folkways of the animistic peoples of Darfur. This, however, is not the world in which we live.

Because of our extreme civilization, we often forget that it is necessary to "go medieval" particularly when dealing with those who are themselves medieval. As terrifying as hordes of self-satisfied American suburbanites brandishing lawn signs can be, their anger and the concomitant desire to dialogue is hardly a motivator for folks such as Bashir, Kim and Ahmadinejad. Repeated, disciplined beatings with an iron fist and an even steelier resolve to stay with the fist until our enemies relent is the answer -- despite what we want to tell ourselves with our lawn signs.

Fantasists

During its heyday in the late-70s to the mid-80s we toyed with playing Dungeons and Dragons -- the seminal role playing game with the crazy set of 6, 8, and 20 sided dice -- but honestly could not get into it. It was too much work, too cerebral and way too steeped in competitive seriousness with levels of skill etc. If you came late to the game you couldn't just play with your buddies who "knew" how. The owners and their "Characters" had too much "experience" to willingly play with a novice who would undoubtedly slow down game play and make the game un-fun.

So, now, rather than drawing mazes, and building characters via dice rolls, and some predetermined allotment of gold coins, men -- many of whom no doubt played D&D as boys -- now "draft" "teams" of professional athletes and play fantasy (fill in the blank). We know that there are many massively-multiplayer-games on the web that more closely mirror the old paper/pencil/dice-D&D experience but we don't play those for the same basic reasons that we never got into D&D. That said, fantasy (fill in the blank) players (aka: "team owners") are as geeky, dorky and obsessive as any of the most hardcore, 15th level warrior-owning D&D dice-rollers ever were. In our second year of Fantasy Football (FF), we feel much as we did as a 13 year old D&D aspirant -- frustrated, uninterested and basically fed up with the whole inane process.

By nature, we are competitive, and losing is not a fun experience even in relation to something as irrelevant as FF. FF is aggravating and there is enough aggravation in life without willingly submitting to an aggravating "game." Games, by their nature, are supposed to be fun. However, given the unpredictability of "any given Sunday" in the NFL, FF becomes a game of chance and we hate games of chance. So, just as we did 20-odd-years ago with the D&D craze, we'll remove ourselves from the Fantasy universe and leave it to the true fantasists and obsessives. Anybody for Monopoly?

The Dogs Are Loose: 2

A little more than a year ago we wrote about allegations of blood doping against Lance Armstrong. Just about two weeks ago two more riders on his team -- one currently still employed by Discovery and wishing to remain anonymous, the other the retired Frankie Andreu -- claimed that they used EPO in 1999 prior to Armstrong's first Tour de France victory. Both are and were domestiques who felt they needed this to do their job which is to help the boss win the race. Armstrong denies the allegations -- as he always does -- but now we can add two more of his former teammates to a very besmirched list that includes this year's disgraced TdF winner, Floyd Landis and Olympic gold medalist Tyler Hamilton. We mentioned in '05 that we want to believe Armstrong, but it gets harder with each revelation and it gets harder to take cycling seriously as a sport given that it appears that many of the pros dope. It's quite disappointing really -- but unsurprising.

Traffic "Flow"

Being employed as a contractor compels one to follow the money. In the case of the author, the money trails leads 40 miles from the home field. That translates into an 80 miles round trip in pursuit of gainful employment. This distance is covered on roads neither scenic nor calm but rather on some of the nastiest, most miserable highways on the Eastern Seaboard. The traffic is atrocious, the driving of fellow wayfarers even worse (if there is something worse than "atrocious") and the ability to predict conditions nearly impossible. The Massachusetts State Police call the section of highway that we drive each and every work day "The Banzai Pipeline." Enough said.

The time spent on these highways, often sitting, sometimes hurtling in a mad dash for any sliver of open road, has provided ample opportunity to ponder the phenomenon of traffic. Certain phenomena that amaze, yet never delight, on a daily basis are:

1. The evolution of the left hand lane as a 45 MPH travel lane.
2. When approaching major right hand merges/exits with other highways the left hand lane stops dead, yet the lanes between the merge/exit continue to flow unimpeded.
3. Mere taps of breaks at the head of a line of traffic can cause a multi-mile ripple effect throughout the traffic stream that effectively stops traffic behind the point of the initial slowdown, leaving people behind the offenders stuck in a jam long after the perpetrator is home, enjoying a cocktail. These are the jams that mysteriously disappear at some random point on the road.
4. People must slow to watch a cop take a speeder's licence and registration, or watch people exchange papers after a fender bender thus causing the aforementioned ripple effect.
5. There is nothing like the setting sun to surprise people at nearly the same spot, and the same time every day. "I came around the corner and the sun was in my eyes so I jammed on the breaks . . . "
6. Hitting the breaks to slow down while going up a hill.
   
7. This is specific to the Commonwealth of Mass, but, there is nothing like cleaning out storm drains, replacing guard rails and trimming trees along the highway during the morning drive to snarl traffic.

Without a doubt, the commute from the 'burbs to the job, whether in the city or in another 'burb has been the biggest challenge and adjustment over the past two years. Never, would we have thought that we would miss the A-Train out of Brooklyn. All of the quality of life changes that we anticipated by moving out of the city, into the 'burbs have either not materialized, or been mitigated by the commute. It is something that was unexpected, and still being processed, and perhaps the thing that most make us question our move.

"The people are better"

Yesterday morning while walking Child 1 into pre-school we paused before a small memorial outside of a nearby church that had printed sheets with the name of each person killed on September 11, 2001, and where they died. Child 1 asked us what all the names were for. We replied that many people were hurt on this day, and those are the people who were hurt.

Walking into pre-school today, the lists were down, and the memorial gone. Child 1 commented "the other morning there were signs outside of people who got hurt, and today they are gone because the people are better." We commented, eyes misting over at the sentiment and the beautiful innocence, that yes, that may be the case. We hope that today, all of the souls of those lost, and the souls of those left behind are resting a bit easier after a day of intense, national reflection and prayer.

In Memoriam

A year ago, on this day, September 11, we posted much material to commemorate the 4th anniversary of the attacks that took the lives of 2,996 innocents. This year, the fifth anniversary of this horrific event we will commemorate the anniversary in a quieter way.

• Our thoughts and prayers go out this day, and every day, but especially this one, for all those killed 5 years ago, and also for their families and friends. May your grief lessen with time, your wounds ache less and may you find solace in the happy memories of your loved ones.
• Despite the passage of time this wound on the American heart, psyche and soul is still very raw -- the hurt, anger, and sadness of that day do not dwell far below the surface. Just when we think that Americans are beginning to forget, this day dawns and brings it all back to us, and that, though painful, is a good thing. We need to remember this every day, and remember all who perished.
• While much is made of the buildings, and the site, and the city and the Geo-politics surrounding this day, this is a human story, writ large. The Every Man as embodied by tycoons, and firemen and dishwashers was murdered five years ago, today. While so much surrounding this event is complex and immense, it pales in comparison to the staggering human dimension of September 11 and the fact that the stories that families tell and retell will shape generations to come.
• The brave men and women of our armed forces stand in harms way today, pray for their safe return.
• This September 11 broke as crystalline as it did five years ago.
• Never forget. Never surrender.

A Return

It's been a tumultuous year since last posting to this blog -- the birth of a second child has a way of limiting the amount of time that one spends navel-gazing on the web. However, with nearly a year's gap between posts we are feeling the urge to publish again. Perhaps it's the change of season, and the fact that short days and long nights will soon become the norm in the North East. Maybe, it's the fact that around this time each year, for at least the last 5, we feel the need to sound off, to make ourselves heard, regardless of how few will actually read or interact with our posting about what we consider to be the signal event of the last 50 years in the life of our country -- the attacks and murders of our fellow countrymen on September 11, 2001.

Amid all of the ratings-grubbing, maudlin, and politicized coverage that undoubtedly will mark the fifth anniversary of this attack we should look through the soft focus videography, and block out the surging violins to understand that this anniversary is the result of a cowardly and unprovoked attack. As much as defeatists and appeasers, both domestic and foreign may want to blame the U.S. these attacks and their harvest of widows, orphans and children-buried-by -parents lie squarely at the feet of fascistic Muslims who wish to dwell in the 14 Century and wish that we would do the same.

There is nothing in the normal course of international events that justifies the type of attack perpetrated on September 11, 2001. We certainly never went looking for this type of trouble; we never asked to be engaged as we are in the Middle East -- despite what the punditocracy would have you believe. We are fighting a war of ideas here, and it is a hot war. Bullets are flying, people are dying and the stakes are incredibly high -- the survival of western culture, liberty and freedom do depend on this conflict.

This is not hyperbole. The governments of Western Europe are cowed by their giant, restive Muslim populations and have completely withdrawn from this engagement. Their fear leads to their continuous denigration of U.S. efforts. This appeasement -- coupled with negative Euro birth rates -- will lead to the inevitable submersion of Western European culture beneath a Muslim sea. America really is the last redoubt of freedom and truly liberal Western thought in this world. We owe it to ourselves, to our heritage and not least of all to the victims of Muslim Terrorism to stand up to fascistic, Muslim dreams of a world wide caliphate. We need to wage this war to its end and we must fight it to win whether that victory comes five, ten or fifteen years from now.

Before Returning To Omphaloskepsis

These quotes were found in the 9/19/05 edition of the Federalist Patriot Newsletter.

"I think the question of what went wrong is a very simple one. It actually [was]a failed local and state government. And when you're in that situation, there's a limit to what the national government can do... DeTocqueville understood this in 1840, when he published Democracy in America. He said a nation can establish a free government, but without municipal institutions, it cannot have the spirit of liberty. And that's the point. That's what we saw on September 11th, that it was in the Mayor and the police and the fire departments, and the other municipal institutions in New York, that you saw the spirit of liberty,
and you measured the health of that society. And that's what has failed with
this guy who's the mayor of New Orleans, and with this governor of Louisiana,
and this hysterical meltdown by Senator Landrieu of Louisiana." —Mark Steyn

"A republican form of government presupposes self-government—the capacity of citizens to govern themselves according to reason—and does not, if it intends to survive, champion them as 'victims' when they don't. But the shocking lack of self-government demonstrated by New Orleanians is the one area of government that our republic's vapid media won't scrutinize in their post-mortems on the city's collapse. Reporters keep shaking their fists at 'the government,' as if America were not a republic but a statist autocracy in which remote rulers can snap their fingers and make problems vanish for their subjects. Reporters alsokeep saying that the government's response last week was 'embarrassing.' What Ifind more embarrassing is the media's infantilizing of New Orleans citizens whochose not to evacuate despite loud and obvious warnings. Does personalresponsibility mean nothing at this point? Aren't citizens 'the government'too?... What's disgraceful, and positively dangerous, in a republic that dependson self-reliance is a media that encourages a culture of victimization. Anhonest media in a republic not wobbling toward statism would—while acknowledging that some citizens couldn't evacuate for reasons beyond their control and showing compassion for those who could but foolishly didn't—stop infantilizing and romanticizingthese citizens as 'victims' of government indifference... Yet by their own standards of indulgence—if they can rationalize the decision making of citizens who are told to evacuate but don't, why aren't they similarly tolerant of inadequate planning by FEMA?—their ferocious appetite for blame appears utterly capricious. But worse than that, it is destructive to the life of a republic, rendering individuals passive and derelict at the very moment its survival requires more not less self-government." —George Neumayr

"The Animating Contest of Freedom"

The North Tower of the World Trade Center collapsed at 10:28 AM September 11, 2001.

"Contemplate the mangled bodies of your countrymen, and then say, 'What should be the reward of such sacrifices?' ... If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquility of servitude than the animating contest of freedom, go from us in peace. We ask not your counsels or arms. Crouch down and lick the hands which feed you. May your chains sit lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that ye were our countrymen!"

--Samuel Adams

Death Toll

United Airlines Flight 93 crashed in a field in Shanksville, PA at 10:10 AM September 11, 2001. The passengers and crew fought back.

A large portion of the Pentagon collapsed at the same time

• American Airlines Flight 11: 81 passengers, two pilots, and nine flight attendants
• United Airlines Flight 175: 56 passengers, two pilots, and seven flight attendants
• American Airlines Flight 77: 58 passengers, two pilots, and four flight attendants
• United Airlines Flight 93: 38passengers, two pilots, and five flight attendants
• World Trade Center; New York City, NY: 2,595 people who went to work
• Pentagon; Washington, D.C.: 125 people people who went to work
  

Four Thoughts

The South Tower of the World Trade Center collapsed at 10:05 AM September 11, 2001.

In the months and years since September 11, 2001 we have thought frequently about the following things.

• Referring to this day as 9/11 trivializes the day and its events. The event was horrific and epic the least the living can do is to refer to the day as Septmeber 11th, without shortening it to some catchy soundbite shorthand.

• As mentioned in an earlier post, everyone who died on September 11, 2001 was simply going to work. This fact forever changed the meaning and potential outcome of "going to work."

• One of the realities of life in NYC after September 11th was the smell. Until the fires -- the longest burning industrial fires in US history -- were extinguished in December 2001, an acrid and sometimes overpowering smell of smoke and death hung in the air. After the fires were put out, the smell of death lingered for months.

• While reading the profiles of the murdered that ran in the New York Times in the months following the attacks we came to redefine the meaning of "ordinary." Each person killed was, in actuality, extraordinary, possessing skills and traits unique to them, never to be duplicated nor replaced by those who knew and loved them.

Four Years After

United Airlines Flight 175 crashed into the South Tower of the World Trade Center at 9:03 AM, September 11, 2001.

In August 2005, while on a shoot in NYC, we took some colleagues for a late night visit to Ground Zero. Not much was said, not much needed to be. This place, this gaping, scarred hole in downtown Manhattan, possesses a spiritual power greater than any other that we have ever visited. This is holy ground, sanctified by the blood and sacrifice of people who woke up that morning and went to work but never came home.

From a Rooftop in Brooklyn

American Airlines Flight 11 crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center at 8:46 AM September 11, 2001

This is a letter we sent out 9/15/01 to friends and family in the aftermath of September 11, 2001. All mistakes and errors were in the original.

First, we'd like to thank everyone who sent us notes of concern, and called to
make sure that everyone was OK. The old network of friends and family was really
buzzing over the past few days, and it has been *such* a comfort to know that
everyone is there. We are physically fine.
Emotionally. . .

At about quarter to nine on Tuesday morning we were gearing up to be in work at the crack of 10:20. We had finished our run, and were showering up when the announcer on WNYC announced that there had been an explosion at the WTC. I ran to the front of the apratment -- we could see the towers from there in the winter, when leves were off the trees -- and a plume of smoke was rising into the sky. I put my shoes on, and ran up onto the roof, with N right behind.

The day was crystalline. You could see the individual columns of the buildings' metal
facade, and you could see the debris hanging out the gaping holes. Perhaps, one
of the most amazing visions from this horrible day is the site of millions of
sheets of paper fluttering into the air, and being caught by the wind. They
sparkled. It was almost like the souls of all those people were escaping.

I snapped some shots, we stood on our roof, shaking, horrified and
uncomprehending when suddenly we heard the turbines of another jet whining off
to our left. Even more confused now, I turned off to look and saw a United
Airlines jet -- Blue and gray, with the multi colored "U" on the tail, this was
UAL 175 -- streaking up the harbor, over the docks of Red Hook towards WTC 2. I
thought "Oh, he's low. He must be going to see what happened. . . wait, jets
don't do that, he's going to Newark, he'll go below the tip of the island, oh my
god! he's going to hit the buildings on the east river oh my god! he's going
into the other tower!. . ." This passed through my mind in a second, I swear to
you all, and then he waggled his wings -- this is a salute pilots give, he
dipped his wings in a little wave, and then he slammed into the building. We saw
the fire ball, then heard the boom, and then felt the concussion.

In the days following we have witnessed so much pain and suffering, and so much
compassion, and understanding. I have been to within 3 blocks of the pile. IT
was hot and dusty and acrid smelling. There were dozens of iron workers trying
to get in to help, nearly brawling wiht the cops and National Guardsmen who
wouldn't let them in. THere was a guy playing a guitar near a salvation army
comfort truck. THe air allegedly contained 800 PPM asbestos -- but everyone
wanted to get onto that pile, no one wanted to leave. I toured the relief
centers at Chelsea Pieres and at Salvation Army HQ on W 14 St trying to drop off
aspirin and soap -- they said they needed it -- and saw so many volunteers off
loading trucks filled with food and water flashlights. On Wednesday, Nancy and I
made cookies for one of the fire houses -- co. 205, on Middagh St., Brooklyn
Heights -- we guessed correctly that were probably on the scene early. They lost
seven men. I walked by another company on W 10 St. -- the door was closed,
covered in flowers and surrounded by candles. I don't even know how many are
lost. I sat on the sidewalk and wept. We saw a picture of the destroyed ladder
truck of the "Happy Hookers" from Red Hook on TV. We often shopped alongside
them at the super market. . . again, I don't know how many they lost, but their
truck was in ruins.

It's almost too much to bear. THe pain, the anguish,
the suffering. THe streets are blanketed in makeshift posters of people
searching for loved ones. All of those beautiful smiling peopple, loved by many,
lost. The acrid smell of fire and destruction blows into our apartment when the
wind shifts -- our neghborhood was covered in thick ash and papers from the
towers on Tuesday, amost like a snow storm, but so awful. I fear what the wind
will carry with it as time passes. As I said, it's almost too much to bear, but
knowing that there is a network of friends and family out there, thinking of us
and praying for us, and for the nation makes it seem as if, despite everything,
we'll be OK. We'll dust ourselves off, and continue. We're Americans, that's
what we do.

Having witnessed this atrocity first hand, awakened by
sirens every morning, and hoping that somehow this will all be just one big
nightmare that dissipates in the beautiful fall light that has characterized
every day but Friday, since the attack, I'd like to make one comment: We should
never forget this. We should never permit oursleves to slide back into the lax
attitudes and self satisfaction that typified us before the attack. The best has
been brought out in America by this most awful of events. People are basically
good. Our reaction typifies this. We should rigorously maintain this sense of
mission and Brotherhood. We will need it in the days, weeks, and I think, the
years to come, as we begin our move to payback those that have done this to us.

As with everything, time moves on, and as Broadway demonstrated Thursday
night, the show must go on. We are leaving for a vacation, today. We leave with
heavy hearts, and distinct sense of guilt, but we have planned this, and we will
go. If we don't, evil wins (FYI, Vermont, 2 wks. and we're driving). New York
will be here when we get back, the hole in our skyline, and our hearts will be
here, and so will America.

Thanks to everyone for your words, and
thought and prayers. Please pray for the victims, their families and the rescue
workers. Thank a cop or fireman, EMT, doctor or nurse the next time you see one
-- who else runs into a building that everyone else in the world runs away from?
Give blood. Make a donation to the Red Cross, or Salvation Army. Remember
September 11, 2001.

God Bless America.

Love -- N & T

Journalistic Follow-up

Journalistic follow-up is, of course, oxymoronic. Journalists follow a story only until some new crisis, or semi-pornographic incident arises to displace the first. Once that happens the circus decamps, and relocates to the latest scene. This saves reporters from having to write conclusions and permits more airtime and column inches to be devoted to the latest outrage or titillating news story.

This pattern is already beginning to appear in coverage of Katrina's aftermath. In fact, it started almost as soon as the storm passed. All eyes, and all news vans, turned to New Orleans as she sank. Armed looters, rapists and floating corpses made for better visuals and bylines than did the more-or-less dry, and orderly aftermath in Mississippi and Alabama. However, when a man shot his sister in the head over a bag of ice -- as happened in Hattiesburg, MS -- then the porn appeal of that town's aftermath-experience went through the roof and the media covered it, turning away, however briefly, from NO. Now, we see even the story of NO's submersion and ensuing misery being displaced by coverage of the increasingly bloody blame-game being played at all levels of government.

The slinging is now directed chiefly at the POTUS, and the story of N'Awlins falls quickly below the line as journalistic Ahabs pursue their favorite quarry, the elusive W. The suffering, rape and floating corpses no longer represent the story of Katrina's aftermath, but rather have evolved into symbols of the incompetence of the federal government under Bush. Never mind that the first line of defense is state and local governments; blame Bush. The spectacle of politicians playing the blame game during a truly precarious moment for this nation is even more disheartening than the image of looters running wild in NO. While the water begins to recede from the streets of the Big Easy, the rhetoric rises ever higher, submerging the real story of devastation and eventual (hopefully) revival, beneath an ocean of blame-Bush recrimination.

The Big Easy

Sharks and alligators swim in the streets. Untold hundreds dead. Armed looters run amok. Three to twenty feet of water cover 80% of a major metropolitan area. Fire shoots up from under the water. Garbage, oil, sewage, corpses and who knows what else, float all over. Civilian gangs shoot at US Army choppers, there to help despite the fact that the civilians ignored all warnings to evacuate. I'm not sure the scene could be more Boschian than what is streaming across the various media outlets and their 24/7 coverage of this disaster.

Like the 12/26/04 Tsunami our understanding of the situation's enormity built slowly within us as news emerged from NO and the rest of the shattered Gulf Coast. Our sympathy grew as we learned more. However, that sympathy is beginning to recede more quickly than the waters of Ponchatrain and the Gulf. The survivors in NO are hardly carrying themselves with any grace -- easy to say, yes, from our above-sea-level-position -- but we were in NYC during the blackout of '03 and anarchy was almost entirely absent. Taking food and water from stores where it will spoil without refrigeration, I can see. Holding up a truck with supplies for a hospital is beyond the pale. No one can eat or drink looted televisions, jewelry and sneakers -- nor guns from Wal Mart.

Of course these are a few bad apples, ruining the reputation of NO. They show the worst in human nature and illustrate just how thin is the line between civilization and anarchy. Katrina demolished not only the physical infrastructure of the Crescent City, but also the moral infrastructure of more than a few of her residents. The wind and floods revealed the heart of darkness that dwells in not a few of us. Katrina served a terrible blow to the inhabitants of the Gulf Coast, and we offer our thoughts and prayers to the people of this region. We should also pray that the social unrest does not spread further and does not cause further loss of life and suffering. Unfortunately, that seems too much to ask for as this nature-created situation grows more dire, exacerbated by the basest of human impulses.