After Beef

I think my cow diversion has nearly runs its course.

The cows that decorate the world's major cities as part of the global public art movement, CowParade, are oddly fascinating. (See earlier blog: Car Parade: Budapest and Boston.)

I have spent too much time thinking about why people love these dressed up plaster bovines. But delight they do. Maybe it's the shared common form--your basic cow--transformed. You don't see a cow, you see how the cow was interpreted and that gives a jolt of pleasure as you impress yourself with your ability to understand the visual pun or message of the artist. People "get" this art. (In a way they don't get modern art?) This gives pleasure. Hence the cow parade goes on.

I can't help but think that in one hundred years, art historians will write books about early twenty-first century public art. Perhaps with the following title: "The Bovine Consciousness Emergent in Metropolitan Byways: A study." Or how about: "Heifers Rising: The Rise of Bovine Beauty in Early Twenty-first Century Urban Pastures."

But didn't I just say that my cow diversion was in its final throes of passion? Ready for the slaughter.

Let there be cows.

(Yet, it is so much more satisfying to write about parading cows than to attempt to write about the cow in the middle of my life, which is related to the elephant in the room, if you know what I mean.)

Vow to self: less caffeine, more tennis, less chatter, more keyboard clatter, and so forth.

Cow Parade: Budapest and Boston

And so I decided to instead write about cows.

That is correct, cows.

The CowParade is a phenomenal public art success by most measures. If you have not yet experienced the parade of cows in a major metropolis, it is a public art moo-vement (forgive me) intended to make art accessible for the masses. Cows are safe. Have you met a person who did not like cows? We all love ‘em, and most of us happily eat them. (Pause and consider what that says about human nature.)

And then someone got the bright idea to use cows as a blank canvas. Artists in each city transform the same basic cow model into fantastic flights of imagination (or sadly, mere advertisements for the companies who sponsor them). Peter Hanig, the even coordinator explains:

Art is about breaking down barriers. It gets people to feel, to think, to react. So when you come across life-sized cow sculptures that have been covered in mirrors or gumdrops, cows that have been painted with elaborate themes or transformed into something else entirely, you can’t help but stop and think about what it means. All your preconceived ideas go out the window. Suddenly people see that art can be fun and that art can be interesting to everyone, not just people who frequent museums.

Art can be fun. Indeed. I am not sure what artists have to say about that, but I can imagine that some agree and some are not amoosed (sorry, I can’t help it, really.)

Peruse the CowParade website. It is a hoot. People love these cows. And the cows raise a huge amount of money for charity. It looks like a win-win game: artists get public exposure, charities get cash, and the art is temporary (so no one has to actually LIVE with it for longer than a summer).

The cows do reflect a city’s culture. Boston’s cows were upright, dignified chaps. Budapest’s cows—yes, they are hosting the parade this summer—are not of the Boston Breed. Strangely, however, the official CowParade website does not list Budapest as a participant. Odd. Is Budapest a renegade cow stampede? Two striking examples of cows in Budapest:

Handicap Cow: his two back legs were amputated and replaced by old-fashioned wheelchair wheels. Not exactly whimsical. Especially when a beggar with a similar impediment worked the subway stairs within sight.

And my personal favorite: The Ice-Cream Cow. The cow is located just near the traditional café for distinguished ladies and gents, the Gerbaund. (Update: I recently learned that this is its new location. It was moved here after much controversy. Read this article from Budapest's English weekly newspaper, Budapest Sun.) It is blue cow ice cream melting into the hot summer pavement. If you imagined a cow as ice-cream, where would you have to insert the wooden stick? Exactly. On the stick it says: Don’t Lick.

I love Budapest and its cows. Whimsical without the sentiment.

Another Update: I found the official Hungarian site for the CowParade. Check it out and dust off your Hungarian language skills! http://www.cowparade.hu/index2.html

(Photo credits go to my Dad and his first digital camera.)

One Hour to Madness and Joy

One Hour to Madness and Joy

by Walt Whitman

One hour to madness and joy! O furious! O confine me not!
(What is this that frees me so in storms?
What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?)

O to drink the mystic deliria deeper than any other man!
O savage and tender achings! (I bequeath them to you my children,
I tell them to you, for reasons, O bridegroom and bride.)

O to be yielded to you whoever you are, and you to be yielded to me
in defiance of the world!
O to return to Paradise! O bashful and feminine!
O to draw you to me, to plant on you for the first time the lips of
a determin'd man.

O the puzzle, the thrice-tied knot, the deep and dark pool, all
untied and illumin'd!
O to speed where there is space enough and air enough at last!

To be absolv'd from previous ties and conventions, I from mine and
you from yours!
To find a new unthought-of nonchalance with the best of Nature!
To have the gag remov'd from one's mouth!
To have the feeling to-day or any day I am sufficient as I am.

O something unprov'd! something in a trance!
To escape utterly from others' anchors and holds!
To drive free! to love free! to dash reckless and dangerous!
To court destruction with taunts, with invitations!
To ascend, to leap to the heavens of the love indicated to me!
To rise thither with my inebriate soul!
To be lost if it must be so!
To feed the remainder of life with one hour of fulness and freedom!
With one brief hour of madness and joy.

Poem: August Morning

Summer travels are finished. We are back in the Bend for the school year. Our trip home from Budapest was smooth--no delays or lost luggage to complain of.

Settling into the house will take time after such a long time on the road. I do not look forward to the unpacking. In fact I am a notorious non-unpacker. I live out of my suitcase for weeks rather than face the laundry I should do sooner rather than later. Of course L. unpacks first thing.

To kick things up a notch, here is a lovely poem to savor:

American Life in Poetry: Column 071 BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

William Carlos Williams, one of our country's most influential poets and a New Jersey physician, taught us to celebrate daily life. Here Albert Garcia offers us the simple pleasures and modest mysteries of a single summer day.

August Morning

It's ripe, the melon
by our sink. Yellow,
bee-bitten, soft, it perfumes
the house too sweetly.
At five I wake, the air
mournful in its quiet.
My wife's eyes swim calmly
under their lids, her mouth and jaw
relaxed, different.
What is happening in the silence
of this house? Curtains
hang heavily from their rods.
Ficus leaves tremble
at my footsteps. Yet
the colors outside are perfect--
orange geranium, blue lobelia.
I wander from room to room
like a man in a museum:
wife, children, books, flowers,
melon. Such still air. Soon
the mid-morning breeze will float in
like tepid water, then hot.
How do I start this day,
I who am unsure
of how my life has happened
or how to proceed
amid this warm and steady sweetness?

Poem copyright (c) by Albert Garcia from his latest book "Skunk Talk" (Bear Starr Press, 2005) and originally published in "Poetry East," No. 44. Reprinted by permission of the author. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.

Back in Budapest

My parents arrived in Transylvania on Friday morning and I have hardly had time to check my email never mind think about blogging.

It is a long, long trip from Kansas to the land of pine trees, mineral water, and kurtos kalach. They have been troopers, however. This morning we arrived back in Budapest via overnight train. In the couchette to our right was a film crew from England (including Jeremy Daniels--whose passport was confused with one of ours at the border), who had just finished shooting a film in Romania. On our right, a group of folk singers/story tellers from Hungary. My family took up an entire couchette.

Saturday and Sunday were spent on the pot-holed roads between villages and bigger cities in Transylvania. We visited a region famous for its salt mines, partially because my hometown in Kansas also has salt mines. We thought it would make for an interesting parallel view of the two cultures. We took a bus down into the mines for a few hours tour.

The mines we visited were huge caverns used here for health and recreation. It is considered therapeutic for those with respiratory problems to spend hours down inside the mines breathing the air which is certainly pollen free. None of us noticed an air ventilation system. No fire escapes. After the 1.5 kilometer bus ride down into the mine, we descended about 200 wooden steps. The experience was eerie. The mine is now equipped with picnic tables, swings, ping pong tables, and room for badminton. There is a church and a museum. And, of course, a coffee bar. (Other parts of the mine are still in working condition.)

After leaving the mines we spent the afternoon in nearby Szovata, a resort town with a salty-water lake. The lake is filled with bobbing heads due to the buoyancy of the water. We didn't float ourselves; instead we enjoyed a long, long lunch on a patio near the lake.

We fed my parents all the local foods we love: cheeses, cakes, fresh fruits and vegetables, mushrooms taken down from the mountains, micc (a kind of grilled meat), kurtos kalach, etc.

We took them up into the mountains around Csik to look at land we might want to buy. We drank Csiki beer on the main street and people watched. (We kept the gypsies at arm's length.)

We played with grandma's new puppy, Bodza.

On Monday we visited the church at Csiksomlyo, famous for its miraculous Virgin Mary statue.

We ate Grandma’s lunch at 1 pm everyday—roka mushrooms paprikas or chicken paprikas, puliszka, or potatoes, or perhaps sheep’s milk cheese and always enough perfectly ripe watermelon to feed an army.

Thanks be to God, the heat wave broke before we arrived in Budapest today. We are all happily ensconced in our castle district residences, most of us sleeping off lunch and rich servings of cake.

Things observed during this trip to Transylvania:

1. Roads in Transylvania are not just for cars--expect hay-loaded horse carts, motorcycles, bikes, old ladies walking, hitchhikers, train crossings operated by hand, hand-picked berries or mushrooms for sale, trucks, and the occasional grazing cow.

2. Kansas and Transylvania have more in common than you might expect.

3. Poverty does not equal danger or violence.

4. Language barriers can be overcome by walking a puppy on the street.

5. Poverty does not equal lack of education.

6. "Decarbonated" does not mean no carbonation when looking for water with no gas.

7. If you are willing to give your last piece of pizza to a beggar woman, do not feel shocked or offended when she walks two steps away and shares it with her son right before your eyes.

8. Transylvania and Budapest--not handicap accessible.

9. Puppies are worth it.

Updates from Csikszereda

We played mad tennis this morning. We made a ferocious team versus an eleven-year-old and our spritely seventy-something-year-old couch. We manage to win a few games here and there.

I finally finished my biography of Marcel Duchamp, for which I am to be one day rewarded with a trip to Philadelphia where his major works are on display. His life and work, his life as his art work, his anti-art as art, etc. fascinate me. I once turned up my nose in the Picasso museum in Paris. Now I salivate at the thought of making a special trip to Philadelphia to see Duchamp's Glass. Life is like that.

Duchamp's demise (as all biography's must end) opened a floodgate for me. Within 24 hours I had read Julia Glass's first novel, Three Junes (highly recommended, especially if you need good literary fiction as a post-Duchampian salve). I am in the middle of The Road to Coorain, a work of autobiography. Next I plan to read Uglies, a young adult novel. Fast. Furious. And strangely ecclectic.

Tomorrow at 6 am my parents arrive on the Korona train from Budapest. They have traveled from Kansas to Transylvania in one long shot. I expect them to drop dead from exhaustion when they arrive. I am sure while they are here they will absorb sights and the local flavors, and offer little commentary on their impressions. Yet I look forward to their reactions to life here in the Carpathian valley.

Writerly Quote for the Day

"In your writing, be strong, defiant, forbearing. Have a point to make and write to it. Dare to say what you want most to say, and say it as plainly as you can.
Whether or not you write well, write bravely."

--Bill Stout

News about Teachers

Education Week (July 12, 2006)

College Board Calls for ‘Drastic Improvements‘ In Teacher Salaries and Working Conditions
By Vaishali Honawar

The College Board, calling for “drastic improvements” in teacher quality and the conditions of teaching, released a set of recommendations today that includes an immediate increase of 15 percent to 20 percent in teacher salaries as well as a 50 percent pay hike within the “foreseeable future.”

The report, which was prepared by the New York City-based organization’s Center for Innovative Thought, a group of academic and business leaders, makes six recommendations, including the creation of a public-private trust to help pay for the reforms.

For More Info
Read the report, "Teachers and the Uncertain American Future," posted by The College Board.

“This is about globalization, about innovation, and about the future of our children,” said Gaston Caperton, the president of the College Board, which sponsors the SAT college-admissions tests and Advanced Placement courses. “We have to get better and better in the education we offer; we have to provide educational opportunities for all students. And that demands better and better teaching, and attracting the best people into the teaching profession.”

He said the goal of a 50 percent salary increase was “very realistic” and achievable through a partnership among federal, state and, local branches of governments. “It is how we finance the interstate-highway systems, how we finance health care,” he said, adding that education deserves to be a top priority for the nation.

Citing the scale of the “crisis” facing the teaching profession, the report says school districts nationally will have to hire 2 million new teachers in the next decade to account for student enrollment increases, teacher retirement, turnover, and career changes. Meanwhile, nearly half the new teachers who enter schools will leave the profession within five years, it says.

Among other recommendations, the report calls for recruiting more minority teachers; improving working conditions in schools; establishing merit-based scholarships in math, science, and engineering to attract new teachers; and encouraging multiple pathways into teaching.

To pay for those reforms, it calls for setting up a national fund with contributions from the federal government, matched by state and local revenues. The fund would also receive contributions from the corporate sector. The trust would hold funds for a general salary increase and to support teachers in shortage areas.

“This is an investment, not an expense,” the report says. “It is a fantasy to believe we can attain educational excellence while teachers are among the poorest paid college graduates in the country.”

Csiki Tales

We arrived to Csikszereda, Transylvania a few days ago with a puppy hidden in our luggage. (Technically he is too young to be exported from Hungary to Romania.) He is a six-weeks-old very adorable King Charles Spaniel recently dubbed Bodza (which is a kind of tree with a flower used to make our favorite summer soft drink). I was in charge of him throughout the overnight train ride from Budapest. He only piddled once on my sheets. Since we were tucked up in the third tier couchette bed, I had to make a fence with my body to prevent him from jumping to his death. Needless to say, I didn't sleep much as all my latent maternal instincts surged in good will toward his warm little body.

Per usual, grandma fed us all our favorites the first day and my stomach couldn't handle the gastronomical love. I have recovered and re-learned the importance of pacing. We have a few more weeks in her kitchen's care and plenty of time to indulge.

I must have mentioned it before, but in Hungarian the word for tomato can also mean heaven. Need I say more? Heaven on my plate in plump red flesh. Cheese brought down daily from the moutains. Stuffed peppers. Thick white bed fresh from the corner bakery. Grandma's cakes. Bodza to drink. And rivers of dense black coffee--the kind that penetrates deep into my DNA and calls forth endorphins.

We started our summer tennis lessons this morning. Our teacher is an over-sixty years old sprite of a man with dashing good looks and bountiful energy. It is shameful to be outplayed by a man three times my age. But the more tennis I play here, the more yummy food I need to eat. See the logic? Logic with a serious caloric impact.

I am still reading the O. Henry short stories and in awe with a few of them, but I am also reading the biography of Duchamp. I started to memorize some Hungarian poetry. We all took a stanza from a famous poem and will "perform" dada style--all shouting our stanzas at the same time while wearing important black turtlenecks--for grandma. At least that's my plan. Grandma may not be amused.

Yes, I am deeply in love with Bodza, the puppy. I admit it.

In a few weeks my parents will make their first trip to Transylvania--it is a long, long trip from Kansas. We plan to show them as much as possible of life here in the short time they will visit.

Reading, eating, deep-mountain-air sleeping, walking in the city, etc. are the stuff of summer. This summer I will add to my agenda: work on my novel. I wrote an epilogue, which means, I guess, that I have finished a first draft. I can hardly believe that given that fact that I know how much work needs to be done. I printed off the second half and brought it here so that I can revise with my cruel red pen.

Summer in Csikzereda is good, very good.

En Route

Today begins my summer travels to Hungary and Transylvania. My 6 am alarm buzzed me into a frenzy of last-minute packing and by the time I arrive in Budapest my internal clock will have done several cartwheels and backflips. As soon as I board my O'Hare flight, I will refrain from all temptations to monitor a clock. I submit to the jet lag gauntlet.

These past two weeks in South Bend, IN were spent unpacking from the move and then packing for the trip. Somehow the house is still filled with boxes despite all opened boxes left out for the recycling truck. Boxes will wait.

A highlight of the week was Book Club, which I hosted at my house. We discussed Pat Conroy's The Prince of Tides. It is an epic tale with elements of magical realism, as pointed out by one reader. It is long. And filled with lyrical passages laced with metaphor. I must go to the Carolinas. I plan to return to the book after our summer trip to glean some of its colorful vocabulary and memorable phrases.

For the plane ride read: the current New Yorker, the 2006 O'Henry Prize Collection (short stories), The Road from Coorain, and the current Harper's.

In my suitcase: approx. 10 pounds of books, including the biography of Duchamp (his second round trip to Transylvania) and my Hungarian language textbooks; our tennis rackets; and a Gwen Stefani CD requested as a gift from a young fan in Csikszereda. Did you know that Shakira will tour Romania this summer? It is a smallish world made smaller by pop stars doing their thing.

World eBook Fair Up and Running

I have had several readers peruse my site looking for information about Project Gutenburg. I blogged about the non-profit last month after I read an article in the Boston Globe about their upcoming free eBooks event. (See first entry at Write Now: Free Books! Gutenberg Project.)

They have successfully launched a month-long program called the World ebook Fair allowing readers to download books at http://worldebookfair.com/. The extended list of free ebooks will be available until August 4th.

Volunteers have scanned the books, many of which are classic titles, and you can access them as pdf files or html files. Some texts are also available in mp3 format. There are amazing titles available, including some children's books, that you can easily download and print (a color printer would be nice for the illustrations).

The site offers you free ebooks, so I hate to complain about its user-friendliness. It takes patience to navigate through the heavy text and various databases. The effort, however, is well worth the reward.

Video: Joss Whedon and Strong Female Characters

Ms. J. sent me a link to this video ages ago. Just this morning I found a mere eight minutes of free time (while I sipped my morning coffee) to view it. It was well worth my time! Thanks Ms J.!

Before I saw this clip, I didn't know Joss Whedon, but many of you may recognize him as the writer of Buffy the Vampire Slayer--a cult hit to say the least.

In this May, 2006 clip Meryl Streep presents him with an award on behalf of Equality Now to honor his creation of many strong female characters.

In case the video doesn't work, here is the link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cYaczoJMRhs

Bookshelf Update

I created the bookshelf on my sidebar a few weeks ago as a way to prioritize my reading. I wanted to complete my virtual bookshelf before I allowed myself to be enticed by other titles. Alas. I have not managed to trick myself as effectively as I had hoped. I am a sucker for suggestions--especially impassioned ones. I am also a sucker for a good cover and pithy summary on the book jacket.

I have finished several of the books on my bookshelf and intended to create a blog entry for each one. This is not going to happen. Not enough time, mostly. Also some of the books were good, but didn't inspire me to go further or deeper this time around.

I will post the titles I have already read here as a way to store them in my virtual memory in case I revisit them one day.

If you have read any of these, feel free to comment! Or if you are curious about a title, let me know and I can give you my impressions...

Strangers to Ourselves: Discovering the Adaptive Unconscious by Timothy D. Wilson

Parable of the Talents by Octavia E. Butler

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See

The Dog of the Marriage by Amy Hempel (short stories)

One Thousand White Women: The Journals of May Dodd by Jim Fergus

Before You Know Kindness by Chris Bohhalian

Lula's Cafe in South Bend

The two-day drive home from Boston was relaxed and delicious.

We stopped in Buffalo, NY where we ate buffalo wings at the restaurant that invented them, the Anchor Bar. I am not a fan usually, but these wings were meaty, crispy, and just-right spicy. Next time, we have to remember that hot is too hot for us. We are medium wings people.

The next day we decided to detour into Cleveland, OH to visit the pastry shop that had baked our wedding dobos cake. A perhaps little known fact: Cleveland is the largest (or was, at least) Hungarian city outside of Hungary. The shop has been located in the same spot since the 1950’s on a street that used to be lined with pastry shops, but I believe Lucy’s Sweet Surrender is a last holdout now. The baker is an American married to a Hungarian from Romania and he very generously gave us a tour of the shop, showing us where they make the strudel and all the other baking machinery.

I highly recommend ordering a dobos torte online. He will deep freeze it and then overnight it--very tasty and very authentic. (It is better to do this in the winter to avoid summer temperatures melting your torte en route.)

I spent one night back in South Bend before I headed out for a quick trip to St. Louis. I drove the six hour trip straight down Illinois in perfectly clouded skies. A long drive to be sure, but stops in Odell for pie at the Wishing Well Cafe and Towanda at the diner make that jaunt satisfying.

St. Louis always manages to surprise and delight. This time I got a tour of the botanical gardens to see the Chihuly blown-glass exhibit. More importantly I spent lots of time on the couch making googly-goo faces at baby Henry.

Now I am at Lula’s, THE café still in South Bend, despite several new ones that have arrived over the years. They still do not have wireless, however, which I support. It is always good to isolate myself from the Internet when I want to work on my writing.

We leave in a week for our “vacation” in Transylvania, our usual summer trip. This time my parents will join us for a week—it will be their second trip to Budapest, but their first to the Carpathian mountains and villages of Transylvania. I look forward to showing them life lived in the Székely way.

Day Trip to Concord: Thoreau and Walden Pond

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan- like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion."
from Thoreau's Walden


I learned this, at least, by my experiment;
that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams,
and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined,
he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.
from the "Conclusion" to Walden

It was difficult to tear myself away from the city for the journey to Walden Pond. Today was a perfect first day of summer—76 degrees with clouds enough to make the sky picture perfect. I worked in the morning at the Trident café and then stopped by the Sonsie to say hello to L. who lunched there for business. Back at the apartment I chatted with the gardener and then decided I had to mail a batch of letters this afternoon. Then I was hungry for lunch.

Finally at three o’clock I got myself on the road toward Concord, MA and Walden Pond. Traffic through Cambridge was brutal and slow enough for me to notice that it is exactly two miles from Hereford (our street) to Harvard Square. I would have sworn it was at least five miles.

I found Concord with ease and started my visit at the Concord Museum. I watched a brief video and toured the rooms—some of which where set up to be authentic period rooms from early American history. My favorite things: a temporary exhibit about woman’s handbags spanning many eras and the Thoreau t-shirts in the gift shop. Key new fact: I have been mispronouncing Thoreau. I used to say tho-REAU and now I have learned that the accent is on the first syllable: THO-reau. This makes sense as most two syllable names are accented on the first syllable: KEL-ley, RO-bert, MAT-thew, etc. (A quick check at Merriam-Webster.com gives several acceptable pronunciations. When in Concord, do as the Concordians….)

After having my pronunciation corrected, I headed off to find Walden Pond. I expected a sanctuary where I could walk and ponder my deepest nature in the light of nature and be moved to a life of deliberate simplicity and slow burning fires to warm me after bracing swims across the pond. What I found: lots of people in beach wear, squealing kids, preening teenagers, and even a half-clad adult male who gave me the jeebies when he followed me in the narrowly fenced trail.

I was trying to commune with the trees and gently lapping lake waters. Instead I fingered my car keys and told myself I could use them as a weapon. I also learned at that time that I had a signal at Walden Pond on my cell phone. I slowed down; so did he. Eventually he passed me and I slowed way down to created a safe zone between us.

As I circled the lake, I realized that the area was mostly safe. At least there was no shortage of people enjoying the water and the perfect weather. It was gorgeous and I regretted being fully clothed and without a swimsuit or at least appropriately bathing-suite-ish underwear. Shoot. Note to self: next time you come to Walden, bring the bikini.

About halfway round I found a spot to let my feet drink in the waters. I rolled up my pants and waded into pristine lake waters warm on my skin. I wanted to dive in, but restrained myself. I wanted to call someone to share the moment (I had a signal). I settled for scratching a mosquito bite and contemplating that I may have just gotten bitten by a descendant of a bug that had bitten Thoreau. Sweet. But itchy.

I then hiked around to find the house site where Thoreau’s cabin once stood. After he lived there two years, the cabin was dismantled (the roof was used for pig sty) and the location forgotten. Years later an archeologist dug for three months before he finally located the chimney stones. Now there is a memorial and next to it a large mound of rocks. A placard noted that visitors add a stone to the pile to honor Thoreau. I tossed a pebble and watched it settle deep in a crack.

The lake was beautiful--the color of the water changed from blue to green to crystal clear as I turned each bend. I wound love to return to take a long swim in its depths.

I walked the lake’s perimeter and into woods for about an hour and a half before heading back to my car. I made a stop by the Old North Bridge, site of “the shot heard round the world” where the Americans first defended themselves against the British in 1775. Just nearby was the Old Manse, the house built by William Emerson and where Ralph Waldo Emerson and Nathanial Hawthorne penned their works.

The landscapes around Concord are serene. The town quaint. And the cappuccino in this café has a respectable froth. This is a place to return. It was painful to leave the city, but while I walked around Walden’s Pond, I thought to myself: the city is overrated; I could make a life in the woods with a stack of books, a gaggle of kiddoes, and regular trips to modern healthcare facilities. Resolution: a minimum one month per year in the wilds of extra-urban life.

Luckily, Walden Pond and the surrounding woods look a lot like Transylvania, where we are headed next month.

More about Henry David Thoreau

On The Move

This past weekend I spent Saturday night in Chicago for a friend's wedding--the most lavish wedding I have ever helped to celebrate. Best of all, the bride and groom had love-silly grins plastered across their faces the entire time. The bride did the limbo; the groom (and all 15 groomsmen) changed into black and white Chuck Taylor All Stars to better groove to the live band. Did I mention the twelve bagpipers piping in a parade into the grand ballroom to lead the 450 guests to dinner? Outstanding.

This week is all about packing. And all about reading instead of packing. We leave Boston to return to our Indiana abode on Monday of this coming week. By this time next week, I may already be "home." I am in exquisite denial. The truth is that I can be happy here or there, which is a good thing. Any transition, however, can be fraught. Change is good--in theory.

Speaking of change, welcome to my newest niece! She is tiny, but tough with lots of black hair.

In the meantime, I am typing away again on my novel. Today I passed the 50,000 word mark. (Author pats herself on the back and grins to the chagrin of her fellow cafe hunt-and-peckers on Newbury street.) Actually, my original plan for the piece was 50,000 words. It is quite clear, however, that I will need at least another 20,000 to round out the story.

For the record: since my last blog we dined at an amazing restaurant, Sorellina. The setting was ultra-cool and the food was divine. This was an eating experience made all the more transcendent by our company--a Roman and an Athenian! Go for the truffled fries--seriously the best french fries I have ever eaten (and I am, sadly, an expert.)

Ugh. Time to pack up my laptop and head home to face the boxes. Packing is lame.

The Myth of You & Me by Leah Stewart

All right kids, this is it: I am in full flush after just finishing a new novel. This book wasn't even on my bookshelf!

Yesterday I was browsing at the Brookline Booksmith and the red cover caught my eye. The book jacket blurb went something like"blah blah blah captures the intensity of a friendship as well as the real sense of loss that lingers after the end of one blah blah etc." I bought it. And a little shy of 24 hours later, I have turned the last page.

These characters are my age and might as well be my reflection in terms of experience. The tale is simply told and captures the beautiful angst of frienships forsaken (and reforged?). What a delicous read--especially if you too used to have big hair shellacked with AquaNet and then grew up together with your college friends. Read it. And beware: I may be forced to send this book via Amazon to you and then compel you to read it too....

The Myth of You & Me by Leah Stewart

Her website is: http://www.leahstewart.com/

Walt Whitman

excerpts from Song of Myself

You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor

look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres

in books,

You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things

from me,

You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

*****

Urge and urge and urge,

Always the procreant urge of the world.

*****

Do you take it I would astonish?

Does the daylight astonish? does the early redstart twittering

through the woods?

Do I astonish more than they?

*****

I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.

*****

I believe in the flesh and the appetites,

Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of

me is a miracle.

*****

All truths wait in all things,

They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it,

They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon,

The insignificant is as big to me as any,

(What is less or more than a touch?)

*****

Enough! enough! enough!

Somehow I have been stunn’d. Stand back!

Give me a little time beyond my cuff’d head, slumbers, dreams,

gaping,

I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.

*****

Do I contradict myself?

Very well then I contradict myself,

(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

Mrs. World Fiasco

The following horrible real life drama is almost too painful to watch. Mrs. DF sent me the note below and the link to a video. Please read first and then view the fiasco.
Ouch.
It makes me feel both sad for the women involved and grateful for my far less dramatic (and less public) life.

********************************************************************************

at the 2006 miss world pageant in russia---did you hear what happened?

they were down to the last 2 girls, miss russia and miss costa rica and neither spoke english . . . nor did most of the audience

so allan thicke is the host and he has some woman helping him who barely speaks english and you know how they usually tell you the first runner up . . . and then the camera goes to the winner and they all celebrate?

well allan says "the runner up is miss costa rica!" and there's a cheer and then you can kinda hear him say "the winner is miss russia" but the celebrations have begun and the woman helping him puts the miss world sash on miss costa rica.

girls come running down to congratulate those that speak english look confused a little girl dressed as an angel is lowered from the ceiling with the crown and they put it on miss costa rica.

allan walks off the stage, the producer is furious and yells at the helper woman.

so now they have to do something, right?

so the go back out and tell everyone the mistake---miss costa rica is dethroned, she's bawling, many of the other contestants are furious and storm off. . . .

and they replay the WHOLE thing there are only about 10 or 12 women left on stage miss costa rica i think is still there crying and they say "the winner is miss russia!"

the angel comes back down, . . . etc. etc

*******************************************************************************

Now view the video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1TJ_UKt4QtQ

Gilead by Marilynne Robinson

I picked up a copy of Robinson's novel Gilead after it was recommended to me by a literary agent at the Grub Street conference. The agent had read a sample of my novel and suggested Robinson's work as an author I could learn from. As I made my way through the text I noted her flawless prose and use of details. I also read to notice how Robinson makes use of a first person narrator. My own work is currently told from the first person and I find that I need more writerly tools to make the most of his point-of-view.

Gilead is a ponderous novel. It is an epistolary novel written by a 76 year-old pastor in 1956 Iowa to his seven-year-old son. The pastor is near death and wants to write to his son who will not remember him after his death.

I finished the novel a few weeks ago and only today picked up my copy to give it more thought. As I paged through and reread sections, I was impressed more deeply by the language and the ideas in the novel. So please forgive the extensive excerpts. (I actually left out sections that were noteworthy!)

Memorable Quotes

(hardcover first edition, 2004)

I told you last night that I might be gone sometime, and you said, Where, and I said, To be with the Good Lord, and you said, Why, and I said, Because I’m old, and you said, I don’t think you’re old. And you put your hand in my hand and you said, You aren’t very old, as if that settled it. I told you might have a very different life from mine, and from the life you’ve had with me, and that would be a wonderful thing, there are many ways to live a good life. And you said, Mama already told me that. And then you said, Don’t laugh! because you thought I was laughing at you. You reached up and put your fingers on my lips and gave me that look I never in my life saw on any other face besides your mother’s. It’s a kind of furious pride, very passionate and stern. I’m always a little surprised to find my eyebrows unsinged after I’ve suffered one of those looks. I will miss them. (Opening paragraph)

You can know a thing to death and be for all purposes completely ignorant of it. A man can know his father, or his son, and there might still be nothing between them but loyalty and love and mutual incomprehension. (p 7)

There is a reality in blessing, which I take baptism to be, primarily. It doesn’t enhance sacredness, but it acknowledges it, and there is a power in that. (p 23)

That was the first time in my life I ever knew what it was to love another human being. Not that I hadn’t loved people before. But I hadn’t realized what it meant to love them before. (p 55)

I was always amazed, watching grownups, at the way they seemed to know what was to be done in any situation, to know what was the decent thing. (p 95)

So you must not judge what I know by what I find words for. (p 114)

There is something in her face I have always felt I must be sufficient to, as if there is a truth in it that tests the meaning of what I say. (p 137)

But I believe that the rewards of obedience are great, because at the root of real honor is always the sense of the sacredness of the person who is its object. (p 139)

And often enough, when we think we are protecting ourselves, we are struggling against our rescuer. (p 154)

Because nothing true can be said about God from a posture of defense. (p 177)

My custom has always been to ponder grief; that is, to follow it through ventricle and aorta to find out its lurking places. (p 179)

The tact was audible. (p 186)

I don’t know exactly what covetise is, but in my experience it is not so much desiring someone else’s virtue or happiness as rejecting it, taking offense at the beauty of it. (p 188)

One interesting aspect of the whole experience was that I simply could not be honest with myself, and I couldn’t deceive myself, either. (p 203)

. . . that was the first time in my life I ever felt I could be snatched out of my character, my calling, my reputation, as if they could just fall away like a dry husk. (p 205)

Love is holy because it is like grace—the worthiness of its object is never really what matters. (p 209)

There is no justice in love, no proportion in it, and there need not be, because in any specific instance it is only a glimpse or parable of an embracing, incomprehensible reality. It makes no sense at all because it is the eternal breaking in on the temporal. So how could it subordinate itself to cause or consequence? (p 238)

There are a thousand thousand reasons to live this life, every one of them sufficient. (p 243)

It seems to me that when something really ought to be true then it has a very powerful truth, which starts me thinking again about heaven. (p 244)

A Few Good Words

susurrus: etymology: Latin, hum, whisper; a whispering or rustling sound

crepuscular: of, relating to, or resembling twilight OR active in the twilight

Model sentences

Here I am trying to be wise, the way a father should be, the way an old pastor certainly should be. (p 56)

I feel sometimes as if I were a child who opens it eyes on the world once and sees amazing things it will never know any names for and then has to close its eyes again. (p 57)

In any case, it felt so necessary to me to walk up the road. . . . (74)

I was standing there, taking it in, trying to decide what to do, when the old man wheeled around and planted that stare on me. (p 98)

I conceal my motives from myself pretty effectively sometimes. (p 147)

Your mother looked at me, so I knew I must have sounded upset. I was upset. (p 152)

Useful Links

NPR Terry Gross Interview with Marilynne Robinson on Gilead
(I highly recommend this interview--very thoughtful)

Saturday by Ian McEwan

I recently finished Saturday, by Ian McEwan. I consider his book, Atonement, one of my favorite novels. So I was intrigued to read another piece of his work.


Saturday is set in London post 9/11 and just before the war with Iraq. The events take place on one Saturday and are told from a neurosurgeon's point-of-view. Henry Perowne is happily married with two artistic children--a poet and a blues musician. His cherished Saturday begins early when he awakens and views a burning plane make an emergency landing. We follow him as he interacts with his children and wife, plays a mean (and long) game of squash, shops for dinner, and cooks a fish stew for a family dinner. (Yes, he even cooks.) This typical Saturday is laced with conflict brought about by a random encounter with a less-fortunate street guy--a tough guy whose Huntington’s Disease the neurosurgeon readily diagnoses in the middle of road rage in the streets of London.

I admit that I was not immediately hooked by the story. The characters, however, and the choreography are finely drawn. And I did feel my pulse race as McEwan built tension and suspense into the narrative. Any book that elevates my heart rate is doing something right.

This book made the New York Times top ten books of 2005. Indeed it does capture modern life and a thoroughly recognizable attempt to "make sense" of a world on the brink of war.

Memorable Quotes
(page numbers from paperback First Anchor Books Edition, April 2006)

The primitive thinking of the supernaturally inclined amounts to what his psychiatric colleagues call a problem, or an idea, of reference. An excess of the subjective, the ordering of the world in line with your needs, an inability to contemplate your own unimportance. ( p 17)

She remained in silent contact with an imaginary intimate. (p 48)

Happiness seemed like a betrayal of principle, but happiness was unavoidable. (p 49)

This reading list persuaded Perowne that the supernatural was the recourse of an insufficient imagination, a dereliction of duty, a childish evasion of the difficulties and wonders of the real, of the demanding re-enactment of the plausible. (p 66)

Work that you cannot begin to imagine achieving yourself, that displays a ruthless, nearly inhuman element of self-enclosed perfection—this is his idea of genius. This notion of Daisy’s, that people can’t “live” without stories, is simply not true. He is living proof.

There is much in human affairs that can be accounted for at the level of the complex molecule. Who could eve reckon up the damage done to love and friendship and all hopes of happiness by a surfeit or depletion of this or that neurotransmitter? And who will ever find a morality, an ethics down among the enzymes and amino acids when the general taste is for looking in the other direction? (p 92)

There are so many ways a brain can let you down. Like an expensive car, it’s intricate, but mass-produced nevertheless, with more than six billion in circulation. (p 99)

A race of extraterrestrial grown-ups is needed to set right the general disorder, then put everyone to bed for an early night. God was once supposed to be a grown-up, but in disputes He childishly took sides. Then sending us an actual child, one of His own—the last thing we needed. A spinning rock already swarming with orphans. . . (p 122)

It isn’t rationalism that will overcome the religious zealots, but ordinary shopping and all it entails—jobs for a start, and peace, and some commitment to realizable pleasures, the promise of appetites sated in this world, not the next. Rather shop than pray. (p 127)

Unlike in Daisy’s novels, moments of precise reckoning are rare in real life; questions of misinterpretation are not often resolved. Nor do they remain pressingly unresolved. They simple fade. People don’t remember clearly, or they die, or the questions die and new ones take their place. (p 159)

There are these rare moments when musicians together touch something sweeter than they’ve ever found before in rehearsals or performance, beyond the merely collaborative or technically proficient, when their expression becomes as easy and graceful as friendship or love. This is when they give us a glimpse of what we might be, of our best selves, and of an impossible world in which you give everything you have to others, but lose nothing of yourself. (p 176)

When there are no consequences, being wrong is simply an interesting diversion. (p 198)

Useful Link

Ian McEwan's Website: Saturday
(Includes a reading guide, reviews of the book AND a recipe for the Fish Stew)

Edith Wharton, et al.

In spite of illness, in spite even of the archenemy sorrow, one can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things, and happy in small ways.
--Edith Wharton, US Novelist (1862-1937)

***

It seems to me, that if you tried hard, you would in time find it possible to become what you yourself would aprove; and that if from this day you began with resolution to correct your thoughts and actions, you would in a few years have laid up a new and stainless store of recollections, to which you might revert with pleasure.
--Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre (1847)

***

A self-narrative that meets the accuracy, peace-of-mind, and believeablity criteria is likely to be a quite useful one, precisely by avoiding too much instropsection.
--Timothy D. Wilson, Strangers to Ourselves (2002)

***

“And the truth is that the truth can never ultimately hurt.”
--Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones (1986)

***

“Anything we fully do is an alone journey. . . . you can’t expect anyone to match the intensity of your emotions.”
--Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones (1986)

***

“Writing practice softens the heart and mind, helps to keep us flexible so that rigid distinctions between apples and milk, tigers and celery, disappear.”
--Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones (1986)

Caroline, or Change

Last night L. and I saw the brilliant musical "Caroline, or Change," book and lyrics by Pulitzer and Tony Award Winner Tony Kushner. It has been a long time since I willingly attended a musical and even longer since I might have even considered using brilliant to modify musical, but. The musical is witty, true. I suppose I mean brilliant in that quirky impressed British way of saying it. Brilliant! Sans irony, of course,which might leave me with beautiful as a better choice to describe the work.

I purchased tickets for the show because it received rave reviews from all local sources. It was so successful that it even extended its run by two weeks. Read: You have two weeks to run out and see if for yourself here in Boston. Read reveiw excerpts and buy tickets here: http://www.speakeasystage.com/

When you consider the many tasty treats you can have at local restaurants and eateries near the Boston Center for the Arts, how can you resist? L. and I dreamed of a dark chocolate calzone at the Picco, but there was a menu change during our over-long absence. So we happily went out on a dessert limb and had the ice-cream cookie. So simple, yet so decadent. We gushed over the play while we shared our chocolate drenched delight. Powerful. Witty. The music--not even the lyrics--gave me goosebumps and made my body want to cry. Here is the synopsis:

Set in a small town in Louisiana in 1963, CAROLINE, OR CHANGE tells the powerful story of Caroline, a black maid working for a Southern Jewish family while struggling to raise her own children amidst the swirling social changes sweeping the country. At the heart of this beautiful musical is Caroline's relationship with the family's young son, Noah, who bonds with Caroline after the death of his mother. Everything changes for these friends, however, when Noah's stepmother decrees that Caroline can keep any change that Noah leaves in the pockets of his laundry. This decision ultimately sparks a confrontation that rips apart both households and mirrors the conflicts outside their doors.

Caroline, or Change left me with a fresh sense of the power of good writing and the joy that lingers from experiencing performance art. L. worked out how to shape a narrative he had been trying to puzzle out.

While the performers were very good, three cheers go out to the young Jacob Brandt, who played the part of Noah. Well done!

NPR Interview with Tony Kushner

New Yorker: John Lahr Discusses Kushner's work

NPR Interview with Kushner
(discussing his co-authorship of Spielberg's movie, Munich)

Free Books! Gutenberg Project

I learned today about the Project Gutenberg, a 35-year-old nonprofit based in Illinois. They have a mission to "break down the walls of ignorance and illiteracy." To aid in this fight they are launching an effort to make thousands of classic books available for free in downloadable form.

Volunteers began typing and scanning books into a database thirty-five years ago, decades before the Internet and the ability to distribute texts electronically became a reality. Now those efforts are bearing fruit as the project plans to host the World eBook Fair. Between July 4 and August 4 over 300,000 books will be available for free download. The fair will be repeated annually.

The majority of books are no longer protected by copyright. For a small percentage of the books, copyright permission was granted for their inclusion. There will even be a limited number of classical music files as well.

Free books. This enterprise is legal. And my Dad always said there was no such thing as a free lunch. Just think: schools could download copies of The Odyssey for free!

For more information read
the Boston Globe's article by David Mehegan:
Free chapter added to saga of e-books

Download free books (to your laptop, ipod, etc.) at the World eBook Fair: http://worldebookfair.com/

Learn about Project Gutenberg AND download free books now:
http://www.gutenberg.org/
(about 20,000 titles ready for download)

Curtis Sittenfeld: Prep and The Man of My Dreams

This evening I attended a reading by Curtis Sittenfeld. Her first novel, Prep, was a runaway best seller and was chosen by the New York Times as one of the top ten novels of 2005. (See the link in the sidebar.) The narrator, Lee, in Prep is an angst riddled teen who convinces her parents to let her move out of South Bend to attend a boarding school out East. Being from South Bend (sort of), I was attracted to the story line. The novel was smart and just dark enough for my tastes to make it stand out from a crowd of novels with young female characters.

I was also attracted to Sittenfeld as an author. She was teaching ninth grade English at a private high school for boys at the time the novel reached publication. After the novel hit the charts, I read one (or two?) essays by her describing her experience writing, getting published, and being marketed. She seemed smart and witty, but not in a snarky way. She was articulate and insightful.

Tonight she read from her latest novel, Man of My Dreams. The narrator is also a young woman, Hannah, but Sittenfeld insists that she is quite distinct from Lee. Lee's story was told during her high school years. Hannah's story spans fourteen years and she gets to mature into her late twenties. Lee said not-so-nice things because she was filled with bile. Hannah also gets verbally callous, but her roughness comes more from naiveté instead of nastiness. These are Sittenfeld's descriptions, as I have yet to read her new work.

Sittenfeld is tall. Tonight she wore black slacks paired with a black v-necked top. Her shoes: black. She looked cool. She looked like she writes: forthright, natural, and comfortable. Hhhhmmm...not sure those are the best adjectives. Alas. Or perhaps I should avoid any connection whatsoever between her writing style and her fashion style?

Sittenfeld shared with us her pleasure to be a guest author of Brookline Booksmith, where she used to shop when she lived nearby seven years ago. After a few opening remarks, she read several pages from the new book, and then took questions.

One person asked her about her readership: men, women, girls? Sittenfeld receives letters from readers of every ilk, but she surmised that many of her readers are women. She laughingly remarked that her audience consists of her family, her high school advisor, and a few strangers. Sure enough, she took questions from "Aunt Nancy" and "Aunt Sue."

The reading was held at the Coolridge Corner Theater, where sounds from surrounding theaters occassionly provided a soundtrack for the reading. After the Q & A we were all invited to the book store for a signing. This time I decided to pass. Not sure why. I suppose that the reality of packing all my books for the move back to South Bend is growing more present in my mind. I have accrued boxes of books already. My copy of Prep is back in South Bend and I wasn't quite ready to buy her latest. I will keep it in mind, however, as a future read.

Useful Links

Curtis Sittenfeld Official Website

May 22nd Time Article by Lev Grossman
Prepping for Love:
With The Man of My Dreams, novelist Curtis Sittenfeld
puts the literature back in chick lit.

Island of Slaves and Burdick's

This past weekend L. and I invested some time in Cambridge. Living in the Back Bay, we most often stay on our side of the Charles. Certainly there is plenty to do. The event was trip to the theater to see Island of Slaves, by Pierre Marivaux in a new translation by Gideon Lester. Here is a brief synopsis provided by the show's website:

Many years ago, a group of fugitive slaves colonized a remote island and established a society of absolute equality. They determined to do away with all class distinctions; any former masters arriving on the island would have to be retrained in the ways of democracy, or else put to death.

Now a storm at sea maroons four people - two aristocrats and their slaves - on the island. They are met by an administrator who instructs the masters and slaves to switch names, clothes, and roles, so beginning their lesson in humanity.

I am thinking this play, originally produced in 1725, did not include drag queens. Luckily, this newest interpretation did! The acting was finely done. For lots of reviews and articles about the play and this production visit this website: http://www.amrep.org/slaves/

Before the show we stopped at Burdick's café located just next to the venue. We have been hearing about this place forever. L. even visited there once eons ago, but had since erased its exact location. Friends, if ever we shall meet in Boston, you will be taken there to indulge. I know this because I do not forget such rich, dark chocolate and can hone in on it from Harvard Square. And, more importantly, it is henceforth linked to in my external memory drive (otherwise known as this blog).

Freed from Guantanamo

I know that I have been news heavy these past few blog entries, but I can't seem to help myself. Shouldn't we be concerned about this?

Freed from Guantanamo, 5 face danger in Albania

By Charlie Savage, Globe Staff | May 18, 2006

WASHINGTON -- Five Chinese Muslims recently released from the Guantanamo Bay prison are living under increasingly dangerous conditions in Albania, the only country to let them in after the United States determined they were not ''enemy combatants," according to their lawyer.

The lawyer, Sabin Willett of Boston, asked in court papers filed yesterday that the Bush administration bring the five men to the United States for their own safety.

The men, who are members of an ethnic group known as Uighurs, were arrested in Afghanistan four years ago. A military tribunal later determined that the men had never been enemies of the United States, and ordered them released.

But because the Chinese government has a history of persecuting Uighurs, who have been seeking greater independence, the men could not be sent back to China.

Two weeks ago, on the eve of a court hearing into their fate, the military announced that it had dropped the men off in Albania, a mostly Muslim country in southeast Europe. Willett, who has been waging a court battle to get the Uighurs brought to the United States as refugees, flew to Albania.

In an affidavit filed yesterday with the US Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia, Willett described a harrowing trip to a slum where the five men are living in a refugee processing center. He said he was able to take his clients to a restaurant and get glasses made for one of them, but since he left, they have been afraid to leave the compound.

The men's arrival has caused a sensation in Albania, he said. The Chinese government has called on Albania to extradite the men, whom it calls terrorists. Members of the Albanian parliament have vowed to send them to China. And even if the men are allowed to stay in Albania, Willett said, they would face a bleak future.

''The impoverished country where they were dumped without community, common language, family, or prospects is ill-suited to withstand the strident demands of the most powerful communist dictatorship on earth," Willett wrote. ''These men never wronged the United States in any way. What has happened is shameful."

The Bush administration has asked the court to dismiss the case on the grounds that it is now moot. A Justice Department spokeswoman did not return a call yesterday

Also yesterday, Saudi Arabia's foreign minister announced that 16 captives held at the Guantanamo Bay detention camp would be transferred to Saudi jails in coming days -- the first large-scale transfer from this isolated island prison camp in more than a year.

Bush Taps Jesus

WASHINGTON DC--USA Today reported last week that President Bush wiretapped American phone lines to investigate terrorist activity. Capitol Hill sources revealed today that Bush has also tapped his direct phone line from Jesus the Christ.

Bush has maintained a direct line to Jesus throughout his presidency, despite drastic hikes in long distance, to better serve the American people. Initially Bush was able to accept collect calls from the Christ. After 9/11, however, the Lord gave 24/6 (Sundays excluded) access to Bush in an effort to aid Bush fight the good fight against terrorism.

Bush apparently tapped the phone line due to increased suspicion regarding the Lord’s calls into the United States. Increased chatter indicated an imminent in-breaking of divine intervention in American politics. Bush upholds the legality of his actions to monitor Jesus’ phone activity. He did not seek a warrant due to the high probability that Jesus would observe the court proceedings and take preemptive action. The Lord is known to protect his existence at all costs--giving out revelation as he sees fit despite human suffering and global warming. His followers operate in separate enclaves and often do not communicate as they work to transform the word according to their leader's specifications.

Bush is committed to protecting the American people. Jesus is being held in a top-secret facility pending official charges.

GOP senator says judges were told of phone spying

Trying to be a thoughtful citizen, I emailed Larry Tribe, the Harvard professor whose article appeared in yesterday's Globe and asked his advice about how to proceed in light of the information revealed about the NSA and phone data. He replied (which impressed me) and suggested contacting legislators to make my views clear to them. Based on my limited experience on Capitol Hill, he is correct. Representatives and Senators do take into account the letters and phone calls they receive from constituents. So, call now and vote early and often.

Here is the next installment regarding the NSA and phone "spying." Things are still murky. . .

GOP senator says judges were told of phone spying
Verizon, BellSouth deny playing a role

By Katherine Shrader, Associated Press | May 17, 2006

WASHINGTON -- Two judges on the secretive court that approves warrants for intelligence surveillance were told of the broad monitoring programs that have raised controversy, a Republican senator said yesterday, for the first time connecting a court to knowledge of the collecting of millions of phone records.

President Bush, meanwhile, insisted the government does not listen in on domestic telephone conversations among ordinary Americans. But he declined to specifically discuss the compiling of phone records or whether that would amount to an invasion of privacy.

USA Today reported last week that three of the four major telephone companies had provided information about millions of Americans' calls to the National Security Agency. Verizon Communications Inc., however, denied yesterday that it had been asked by the agency for customer information, one day after BellSouth said the same thing.

Orrin G. Hatch, Republican of Utah, said that at least two of the chief judges on the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court had been informed since 2001 of White House-approved National Security Agency monitoring operations.

''None raised any objections, as far as I know," said Hatch, a member of a special Intelligence Committee panel appointed to oversee the NSA's work.

Hatch made the comment when asked during an interview about recent reports that the government was compiling lists of Americans' phone calls. He later suggested he was also speaking broadly of the administration's terror-related monitoring.

When asked whether the judges somehow approved the operations, Hatch said, ''That is not their position, but they were informed."

The surveillance court, whose 11 members are chosen by the chief justice of the United States, was set up after Congress rewrote key laws in 1978 that govern intelligence collection inside the United States.

The court secretly considers individual warrants for physical searches, wiretaps, and traces on phone records when someone is suspected of being an agent of a foreign power and when making the request to a regular court might reveal highly classified information.

Since the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, the court has been led by US District Judge Royce C. Lamberth, and then by US District Judge Colleen Kollar-Kotelly, who succeeded him.

Bush was asked yesterday about the reported lists of calls.

''We do not listen to domestic phone calls without court approval," Bush said.

He appeared to acknowledge the NSA sweep of phone records indirectly, saying that the program referred to by a questioner ''is one that has been fully briefed to members of the United States Congress in both political parties."

''They're very aware of what is taking place. The American people expect their government to protect them within the laws of this country, and I'm going to continue to do just that," Bush said.

Spokesman Tony Snow later said Bush's comments did not amount to a confirmation of published reports that the NSA's surveillance included secretly collecting millions of phone call records.

Verizon, meanwhile, called into question key points of a USA Today story that has led to wide coverage by other news media in the past week.

''Contrary to the media reports, Verizon was not asked by NSA to provide, nor did Verizon provide, customer phone records," the New York-based phone company said in an e-mail statement.

A day earlier, BellSouth Corp. had said NSA had never requested customer call data, nor had the company provided any.

A story in USA Today last Thursday said Verizon, AT&T Inc., and BellSouth had complied with an NSA request for tens of millions of customer phone records after the attacks.

USA Today spokesman Steve Anderson said yesterday, ''We're confident in our coverage of the phone database story, but we won't summarily dismiss BellSouth's and Verizon's denials without taking a closer look."

The Senate Intelligence Committee is to hold a confirmation hearing tomorrow on Bush's nomination of Air Force General Michael V. Hayden to head the CIA. Hayden is sure to face vigorous questioning; as the NSA director from 1999 until last year, Hayden oversaw the creation of some of the government's most controversial intelligence surveillance.

The Senate and House intelligence chairmen -- Senator Pat Roberts, Republican of Kansas, and Representative Peter Hoekstra, Republican of Michigan -- announced yesterday that their full committees would be briefed for the first time on Bush's warrantless surveillance program. The operations have allowed the government to eavesdrop on domestic calls when one party is overseas and suspected of terrorism.

Democrats have demanded such information for months, saying the administration was violating the law by withholding it from committee members.

Senator Carl Levin, Democrat of Michigan and an Intelligence Committee member on the select NSA panel, said the administration had given the public only part of the story.

Bush Stomps on Fourth Amendment

In an effort to be more than a happily ignorant member of the "complacent majority of citizens" described by Tribe, a professor of constitutional law at Harvard, I read the following brief article in Today's Boston Globe. Read it. Then someone tell me what to do about it. . .

Bush stomps on Fourth Amendment

By Laurence H. Tribe | May 16, 2006

THE ESCALATING controversy over the National Security Agency's data mining program illustrates yet again how the Bush administration's intrusions on personal privacy based on a post-9/11 mantra of ''national security" directly threaten one of the enduring sources of that security: the Fourth Amendment ''right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures."

The Supreme Court held in 1967 that electronic eavesdropping is a ''search" within the meaning of the Fourth Amendment, recognizing that our system of free expression precludes treating each use of a telephone as an invitation to Big Brother to listen in. By 2001, the court had come to see how new technology could arm the government with information previously obtainable only through old-fashioned spying and could thereby convert mere observation -- for example, the heat patterns on a house's exterior walls -- to a ''search" requiring a warrant. To read the Constitution otherwise, the court reasoned, would leave us ''at the mercy of advancing technology" and erode the ''privacy against government that existed when the Fourth Amendment was adopted." This decision, emphasizing the privacy existing when the Bill of Rights was originally ratified in 1791, was no liberal holdover in conservative times. Its author was Justice Antonin Scalia. Justice Clarence Thomas joined the majority. Justice John Paul Stevens wrote the dissent. This issue should not divide liberals from conservatives, Democrats from Republicans.

These two decisions greatly undermine the aberrant 1979 ruling on which defenders of the NSA program rely, in which a bare Supreme Court majority said it doubted that people have any ''expectation of privacy in the numbers they dial," since they ''must 'convey' [such] numbers to the telephone company," which in turn can share them with others for purposes like ''detecting fraud and preventing violations of law." Unconvincing then, those words surely ring hollow today, now that information technology has made feasible the NSA program whose cover was blown last week. That program profiles virtually every American's phone conversations, giving government instant access to detailed knowledge of the numbers, and thus indirectly the identities, of whomever we phone; when and for how long; and what other calls the person phoned has made or received. As Justice Stewart recognized in 1979, a list of all numbers called ''easily could reveal . . . the most intimate details of a person's life."

The Fourth Amendment's guarantee against unconstrained snooping by Big Brother -- made bigger by an onrush of information-trolling technology that few foresaw in 1979 -- is bipartisan. It is a guarantee that cannot tolerate the pretense that numbers called from a private phone, unlike the conversations themselves, are without ''content." That pretense is impossible to maintain now that the technology deployed by NSA enables the agency to build a web with those numbers that can ensnare individuals -- all individuals -- just as comprehensively and intimately as all-out eavesdropping.

Even if one trusts the president's promise not to connect all the dots to the degree the technology permits, the act of collecting all those dots in a form that permits their complete connection at his whim is a ''search." And doing it to all Americans, not just those chatting with Al Qaeda, and with no publicly reviewable safeguards to prevent abuse, is an ''unreasonable search" if those Fourth Amendment words have any meaning at all.

The legal landscape, too, has changed decisively since the court's majority opined that Americans have no expectation of privacy in the numbers they call. Rejecting the accuracy of that description even decades ago, Congress, which was more vigorous then in its protection of privacy, enacted statutes reassuring us that our phone records would not be shared willy-nilly with government inquisitors without court orders. So it can no longer be said, if it ever could have been, that our ''expectations of privacy" about whom we call are groundless or that we ''consent" to reconstruction of our telephone profiles by using one of the phone companies that, unbeknownst to us, have agreed to share such information (although, we're told, not the content of every call) with NSA on demand.

Privacy apart, this president's defiance of statutes by the dozens is constitutionally alarming. But the matter goes deeper still. Even if Congress were to repeal the laws securing telephone privacy, or if phone companies found loopholes to slip through when pressured by government, the Constitution's Fourth Amendment shield for ''the right of the people to be secure" from ''unreasonable searches" is a shield for all seasons, one that a lawless president, a spineless Congress, and a complacent majority of citizens -- who are conditioned to a government operating under a shroud of secrecy while individuals live out their lives in fishbowls -- cannot be permitted to destroy, for the rest of us and our children.

Laurence H. Tribe is a professor of constitutional law at Harvard Law School and the Carl M. Loeb University Professor.