:: meanders ::

:: Happy May Day!
The Wobbly's have forever conflicted this gloriously pagan and earthy day with the image of burly bicep'd men, or more realistically, stringy haired hippies, singing "Wake up you prisoner's of Hunger... The Internationale. And so I'll give the two aspects vying for the jubilant celebration of freedom equal time.
[image: Pieter Brueghel the Younger, Flemish (1564-1638)]

With brilliant color and movement, Pieter the Younger has carefully described a rustic village community celebrating the ancient festival of May Day in his painting, Dance Around the Maypole. The villagers depicted here, like their ancestors, celebrate as a way of wishing for a successful harvest season. It is a vibrant and engaging image, and one that affirms the value of traditions and customs which serve to identify and consolidate a community. Merrymakers of all ages participate in dancing, singing, card playing, and laughing (as well as other effects of too much merrymaking, urination, and vomiting). source

Pete Seeger sings l'International in French. Lengthy, but it includes his unique commentary interwoven. Found at an amazing Japanese site devoted to l'Internationale. It is a fortunecity.com site and will bombard you with pop-ups, but is worth a visit for curiosity seekers.

[Mind you, I'm no commie, but l'Internationale is one heck of a rousing melody!

:: Nobel Regrets
Writing for The New Republic Online, Martin Peretz, in his Cambridge Diarist article Regrets, takes to task with words deeds left undone by empty words. I'm glad to find company in chastising Nobel committee wags for their cynical finger pointing at Shimon Peres. That Peretz goes on to lob rotten tomatoes at a few other misguided toadies in the same article makes for a satisfying rousing of the rabble in me, I'm only somewhat embarassed to admit. In the words of Abba Eban, "History teaches us that men and nations behave wisely once they have exhausted all other alternatives."

:: Rose's apartment was swell...
I just watched Mulholland Drive. I knew nothing about this film by David Lynch, but it came "recommended". Unfortunately, that Rose's apartment set was swell is about all I can recommend about this boring piece of public diddling. Like the overblown performance art that captures the vapid imaginations of "art" critics, this film would have been better as a concept unrealized. But then, what would panderers of self-conscious pseudo-intellect have to foist on gullible voyeurs? Just what is it that makes people not only slaver over such bilge, but actually fund and promote it? I am reminded of the travesty bestowed by the Brits on the so-called cutting edge "The Lights Going On and Off" that garnered last years Turner Prize. How fitting that Madonna made the presentation. But I digress. While I started watching with curiosity and engagement, I left off somewhere near the end, not giving a hoot about what "it means". I quite enjoyed the sets and locales and being a life-long Angelino, did the usual spotting and calling out of places. I should have realized these were signs of boredom, but I persisted. I have this thing about finishing what I start. But the "story" itself was lost in the self-absorption of some wierd sort of garbled ethereal "message" that was itself clueless. I just couldn't make myself watch the whole thing and turned it off. Having been told the ending was "worth" watching, I was game to once again examine what I had abandoned. Turns out, it was only the last 10 minutes. How can a movie be so bad that with only ten minutes left to go, you just say, "This is stupid" and walk away? It's true. And, sorry to say, the reward for watching the end was zilch, nada, niente. It was one BFD. Adio, caro David Lynch. You have friends enough and one less will no doubt will do you no harm. Now let me say what I really mean. In the words of my friend, The Bear, "What a pretentious piece of pusillanimous and utterly solipsistic self-indulgent dreck.".

:: Rilke came swimming by today...

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves ... Live the questions now. Perhaps you will gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer. Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)

Paul Klee - The Golden Fish

:: ever wonder why there are so many jerks in the world?
It's one of those things that just are. Makes one think of Pangloss and in the end, is a reminder to heed Voltaire through the lesson of Candide, who allowed distraction to keep the keys to the kingdom out of his reach.

The problem of good and evil remains an inexplicable chaos for those who seek in good faith. It is an intellectual exercise for those who argue: they are convicts who play with their chains. Voltaireentire essay

:: Ever wonder what creativity is?
No doubt most have at some point. Part of developing a strong and healthy ego is the differentiation process, discovering what makes one unique, separate from the crowd through actions, looks, or thoughts. Unfortunately, differentiation on a societal level has biased endowing creativity towards "artists" or master inventors, relegating the rest of the rabble as also-ran riff raff. Fortunately for the world, the Great Spirit has a different view, and within each person, regardless of their vocation or hobby has within them the potential to create, however big or small. Charles Cave explores what constitutes creativity as well as how one may go about putting more of it in one's day to day activities in his site, Creativity Web - Resources for Creativity and Innovation. Cave's is a refrehing and inclusive view of creative expression, be it in the traditional arts, science, invention, or the seemingly mundane aspects of day to day life.

:: update on Oriana Fallaci articles
The copyright holders of the Oriana Fallaci articles have made cause to remove the English translations from the web. This is not unfair as of course the copyright-holders had not, apparently, authorized those particular web postings. The loss unfortunately is ours as the passion, intellect, and message Ms Fallaci brings to the world, at this point, is lost to English language readers. Why those articles are not provided by the copyright holders themselves is a disturbing question to which I have no answer.

:: Nampara Cove
OK, I admit it and don't care if you, dear reader, are a TV snob. I love TV, or perhaps better said, escapist entertainment (lol). I'm a snob too, in that I won't watch "certain" types of shows. I guess my plate is full enough with The Golden Girls, MSNBC news coverage, Fox Biz Block on Saturdays, and various combos of Law&Order, Homicide on the Streets, and BritCrime shows. Toss in Worlds Funniest Animals, History Channel, TechTV, and the occasional Discovery/Nature/Nova type stuff, well, one wonders if I do anything but watch TV. You list all the stuff you watch and you might surprise yourself. Sort of like keeping one of those food diaries, or doing a major shopping trip after a big move or long vacation... amazing the breadth and nature of what goes in. But all those shows are like the junk material in the DNA strand. The real signals are the movies and series I can watch on my TV. Once a year I love to watch the Poldark series, which I watch on tape. Now that is a world apart. Ross Poldark is often flawed, of complex motives, warm, at times infuriating, and in short, as well drawn a character as one can hope for in fiction. Just last week I was the happy recipient of the original series of books, written in 1945 and later, by Winston Graham. What a refreshing change to see lust and affection as expressions on a face or knowing look in the eye, rather than explicit sweaty humpy rumpy bumpy. Plus, the story takes place in Cornwall, long loved by me through various real trips as well as through the lense of Daphne DuMaurier (*), one of my favorite writers. And so, to Nampara Cove, later, for a meal of stargazy pie.
image source
A Cornish fish pie specialty of Mousehole (pronounced "muzzle") made with fish heads sticking out of the crust, looking towards the stars (*) Whatever you do, do not waste effort in reading Mrs de Winter by Susan Hill
a so-called sequel to du Maurier's Rebecca . It is a total travesty.

:: speaking of more orderly worlds...
I mention on my market page that my PCs are collectively giving me grief once again. Seems I'm more easily derailed by these annoyances than before. Then again, "before" my work in the past was far less dependent on my own PCs. I used to be a Project Manager in satellite communciations, "responsible" for the design, build, and test of some pretty high profile telcomsats. PCs were very much a part of that work, what with schedules, plans, meetings, costs, etc. But If something went wrong, well, I could just call the IT technican who would come over and fix it while I went about the other work. As much as I enjoyed that work, I don't miss it for a moment and find quite a bit to enjoy in market analysis, and sometimes carry that enjoyment over into trading (lol). I laugh as trading is the real challenge, and where for me anyway, the real work and growth happens. To carry the analogy a bit further, trading is a bit like putting together with nuts and bolts what the engineers designed with pen and CAD. Looks good on paper and in concept, but rarely does the final assembly go exactly as planned. In fact, without work-arounds, patches, redesigns, etc, it'd be one heck of a slow day on the assembly floor. But that, friends, is the real world. Our designs are always perfect, always orderly, always just so. Not to knock the concept, as to strive for the best is IMO foundational to growth. To accept less than our own best effort is the fast track to hell on earth. On the other hand, to see that life is an art in itself, is its own perfection, is to see and accept our own humanity. And so we analyze, we trade. We sometimes win and sometimes lose. And hopefully, we learn a bit about order and life in the doing.