Category: Access

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Jerks, Chapter 2: Taxonomy–More on Randy Individualists (Free)

The extreme case of false individualism is the libertarian sect, rooted in the teachings of Ayn Rand,  known as Objectivism.  Only in America, I sometimes think, could a political movement be based on a writer of pop fiction.  The thinness of Rand’s erudition is matched only by the banality of her imagination, which ran to most of the clichés of soft pornography.  I never got farther than a few chapters into Atlas Shrugged, but I did once manage to finish The Fountainhead, and even though I skimmed it rather quickly, my gag reflex was hard to suppress.  In her defense,...

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President Obama’s Missed Opportunity on Race

I didn’t vote for Barack Obama in 2008, mainly because he was about as pro-abortion as one could get. But in discussing him with my conservative friends, some of whom actually did vote for him, two things stood out: First, he was not John McCain, the Republican nominee.  Insane McCain, like Hillary in 2016, was obsessed with confronting Russia, even if that meant sparking a nuclear war.  So far, although Obama is ending his term with several pointless provocations of Moscow, we still haven’t been atomized. Second, we thought he might–just might (but no more)–improve race relations, including the status...

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Wednesday’s Child: This Way Up (4)

With the Pasternak centenary in 1990 came several full-length biographies of the poet, and a discussion of their merits in the literary pages.  Reviewing Christopher Barnes’s Pasternak, Peter Levi, who has no Russian, startled readers of the Independent with the theory that “Doctor Zhivago was his masterpiece, but only a poet could have written it.”  “He has some Russian,” lied Peter France, who does not have enough Russian to know he was lying, reviewing Levi’s Pasternak in The Scotsman. Reviewing Levi’s Pasternak in the Observer, Anthony Burgess, who had expended what Russian he had ever had on A Clockwork Orange,...

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The Xanthippe, Part 2

Part II Xanthippe is saved by the noisy entrance of a semi-intoxicated young man . Xanthippe: “Why, it’s Pheidippides, that new student of yours at the Phrontisterion.  What does he want?  I hope he’s come to pay his bills.” Socrates:  You know I do  not charge for my instruction.  The sophists take money, because they claim to be able to teach their students how to succeed.  I only want my young friends to understand, and who would pay for that? Xanthippe:  Some of them, at least, bring me presents—good wine and oil for dressins greens, not that lamp oil you...

12

The Year 2016

Shostakovich, our last monumental composer–before the light of the ability to write more than ditties flickered out of our civilization – used years for two of his symphonies. Symphony No. 11 was The Year 1905, for that year’s Russian Revolution. And Symphony No. 12 was The Year 1917, dedicated to Lenin and the Bolshevik Revolution. (The links lead to YouTubes of performances of the works, if you’re inclined to listen. I did writing this.) The Year 2016 was such a year. I’ll highlight three monumental events: Brexit, Trump’s victory and the coalescing effort to stop Pope Francis from scratching adultery...

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The Xanthippe, A Lost Dialogue, Part I (Free)

This mysterious work, when it was discovered in the late 20th century, was attributed to Plato, but in view of the philosopher’s appearance in the dialogue, that identification is as suspect as everything about the work.  The scholar and translator, who says he discovered the text in the ruins of a Calabrian monastery, claims the Greek original was destroyed in a fire.  Even if the tale is true, it is hard to know what to make of the translation, which makes anachronistic literary references and uses late 20th century expressions for which it is hard to imagine Greek equivalents.  Nonetheless,...

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Wednesday’s Child:  The Technicolor Dreamcoat (Free)

Truth may be stranger than fiction, especially in places where the writers ain’t all they’re cracked up to be, but these days, I swear, even apparently random facts seem to be running away with themselves in the land of Gogol. I have made two posts, one in April and one in October, highlighting the creation in Russia of the equivalent of Himmler’s Schutzstaffel (SS), called the National Guard (Rosgvardia), and speculating on the likely function of this 350,000-strong presidential private army.  Recent developments bear out my speculation.  Last week a senior Rosgvardia commander, Aleksandr Maul, made a statement that swept...

3

Neocons Freak Out (Free)

One of the pleasures of the impending Trump presidency is watching the neocons freak out, as we said in the 1960s. One of the biggest freak outs is by Charles Krauthammer, top columnist at the old CIA in-house organ, the Washington Post. Like almost all neocons, he’s really just a warmongering liberal. In his case, he even wrote speeches for Mondale, afterword moving slightly up from Mondaleism. In his most recent column, “Aleppo and American decline,” he wrote, “The fall of Aleppo just weeks before Barack Obama leaves office is a fitting stamp on his Middle East policy of retreat...

4

When Christmas Was Coming! (Free)

When Christmas was coming, Mama would start collecting medium-sized boxes which she would later decorate with bright Christmas paper for the purpose of taking food as a gift – a canned ham, some fruit, some nuts and some homemade candy- to the numerous “shut-ins” in and around Pollock. When Christmas was coming, out would come the reserve box of Christmas cards which were chosen, filled out, and stamped at the dining table some pre-Christmas night after supper. I usually chose a card for a particular person or family; Mama filled it out and addressed the envelope, and Daddy would break...

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Wednesday’s Child:  Wheat of the Saracen (Free)

“Idiot!” exclaims the driver of the car I’m in, referring to the man ahead who has just pulled out, or cut him up, or whatever it is that motorists do to each other which they oughtn’t.  In exclaiming thus he pronounces judgment on his fellow man where the verdict is shorter than a sentence.  It’s called an insult. An insult is different from a slur in that no inferences are drawn about the person apart from those suggested by his behavior of the moment. He was cursed, yet remains a stranger.  Calling the erratic driver in front a “bastard” would...