Free Yulia Tymoshenko for Christmas!

This Christmas, I fervently hope to see Yulia Tymoshenko, the former Prime Minister of Ukraine, freed from prison. 

This could happen. The current government is looking wobbly, after using riot police to disperse protestors. This administration cannot be regarded as legitimate by western nations when the current Prime Minister deals with political opponents by tossing them into prison on what appear to be trumped-up charges.

George Bush (left) and Yulia Tymoshenko (right)

I am no expert in the Ukrainian justice system or the fine details of her case. But even if she did make a questionable gas deal for Ukraine, or was corrupt, surely that would be more appropriately punished by impeachment or civil penalties. It doesn't sound like a criminal offense punishable by imprisonment. 

But I suppose that's Ukrainian politics. During one of her campaigns, her opponents handed out leaflets claiming that she had Jewish blood, with blaring headlines: "Don't vote for a Jew."  She responded by saying she was not a Jew. What a country. 

To summarize my case, Tymoshenko should be released because:

1. Christmas is the season of peace, forgiveness, and good will towards men (and women).
2. The Economist magazine has taken the same position.
3. She courageously carries on issuing news releases from prison.
4. She wears blond braids on top of her head, like the prison camp secretary in Hogan's Heroes.
5. She’s brilliant.
6. She’s hot.

Ha! Ha! Just joking on those last few points, but they're true nonetheless. The Hon. Ms. Tymoshenko has her own website, in English: http://www.tymoshenko.ua/en/.

Sonny's Castle Dangerous

Red-and-White Striped Boxer Shorts

I must register a complaint regarding Jos. A. Bank's 100% Combed Cotton Men’s Underwear (Pre-Shrunk). This garment has proven to be shockingly unreliable.

Yesterday, after a routine weekly wash, I removed my red-and-white striped boxer shorts from the clothes dryer. To my horror, I found that the fabric had split wide open. It literally came apart at the seams, turning my boxer shorts into something resembling an Indian's breechcloth.

For years, I have relied upon this product. I thought it was a premium product. But it seems I was too trusting. Had I ventured outside wearing nothing but this defective, falling-to-pieces undergarment... I don't like to think of the consequences.

Shaken to the core by this outrage, I tossed and turned in my bed for hours. Eventually, I fell into a light doze. Halfway between consciousness and slumber, I imagined, or perhaps dreamed, I was walking down New Malden High Street. Glancing down, I noticed I wore nothing but shredded,  red-and-white striped undershorts. They flapped freely around my waist as I struggled to conceal my near-nakedness. But with flanks exposed and modesty shattered, there was no place to hide. 

Of course it was only a dream, a horrid dream. But I cannot have this sort of thing going on in my life. I shall insist on a full refund.

Anti-Semitism in Grimm's Fairy Tales

Lisbeth Zwerger’s new collection of tales from the Brothers Grimm draws children into "nostalgic fairy tale worlds,”  according to Maria Tatar’s review in The New York Times Book Review  (“Beauties and Beasts,” Nov. 10). I wonder whether Zwerger’s selection includes The Jew Among Thorns, which I found in another Grimm collection recently.

Therein, a “good, honest servant” uses a magic violin to force “a Jew with a long goat’s beard” to dance in a thicket of thorn bushes. The thorns tear the Jew's clothes off and prick him all over his body. The Jew protests that he does not want to continue this dance. But the servant continues his relentless magic fiddling, explaining: “You have fleeced people often enough, now the thorn bushes shall do the same to you.” At the story’s end, a judge orders the Jew to be taken to the gallows and hanged. 

The Grimms also cast a Jew as the villain in another tale: The Good Bargain. 

In fairness, it must be said that Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm were collectors of German folklore, not the authors. They published their first collection in 1812. Perhaps it is no fault of theirs that such gross anti-Semitism appeared in German folk tales 200 years ago. But its very presence in those stories is an indication of how deeply anti-Jewish feeling must have permeated German society, at least in the 18th and 19th centuries. Parents beware: such virulent prejudice has no place in any child’s library. Skeptical? You can read both stories by following the link below. 

This was originally intended to be a letter to the editor of The New York Times Book Review. I never submitted it for publication, fearing negative consequences if it was discovered in a background check.  

Link: 
Grimms' Fairy Tales: . http://www.cs.cmu.edu/~spok/grimmtmp/. 

Fiend Without a Face

As a young man, I sought a university degree in English Literature. I was frustrated by my inability to see deeper meanings in the great books our professors insisted we read. But now, having lived long, these insights come to me unbidden.

Here is an excellent example.

In last night’s horrid dream, a terrifying creature pursued me wherever I went. This creature had no clear form and no face. It appeared everywhere, in a dream that seemed to span a lifetime. 

I am familiar with the theories of C. J. Jung and Joseph Campbell. Obviously, the faceless dream creature represents my ever-present anxiety over so many things – lately, job security issues. Like the faceless creature, these worries are vague and malformed. Wherever I go, they pursue me like a pestilence. There is no escape.

This brings to mind the British science fiction film, Fiend Without a Face (1958; link below), and After the Fox (1966), in which Peter Sellers delivers a memorable line - paraphrased: no matter how fast you run, you can never run away from yourself. 

To relieve the pounding headache brought on by this ever-present tension, I paid $108 for a scalp massage at a fancy spa. But that is another story.

Links:

The Fiend Without A Face (1958) : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fiend_Without_a_Face

Eyes Without a Face (1960, France): http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eyes_without_a_face

After The Fox (1966), http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0060200/?ref_=ttqt_qt_tt

The Cheapside Hoard

There's no telling what you'll find when you renovate an old building. You just might discover buried treasure, such as The Cheapside Hoard.

From the Cheapside Hoard: The Stafford Intaglio 

The hoard was uncovered in London in 1912, when a construction worker tearing up a floor with a pickaxe broke through to a stone-lined sub-basement. There he found a wooden box containing "the world’s largest collection of Elizabethan and Jacobean jewels," according to the October 12, 2013 issue of The Economist (link below). 

Why were over 400 pieces of jewelry buried in the basement? The accepted explanation is that this was once the cellar of a  jeweller's shop. In the 1600s, the street was known as Goldsmith's Row.

If you believe the Wikipedia article (link below), the hoard was buried sometime in the period 1640 to 1666. England's Civil War was raging during that period. That suggests the jewels were hidden to protect them from anti-monarchists or civil disturbances. Perhaps nobility left them with the jeweler for safekeeping. But why didn't the owners return to reclaim their jewelry when the war was over? 

Ali Baba by Maxfield Parrish (1909)

There's a potent analogy here, for those who care to see it: that of hidden mysteries. Finding an underground chamber filled with buried treasure is symbolic of self-discovery, as noted in this earlier post on Joseph Campbell: Aladdin's Cave.

The Cheapside Hoard is on display at the Museum of London through April 2014.

Links:

• The Economist: Cheapside Hoard: A trove of historic jewellery goes on show a century after it was discovered, October 12, 2013
• Museum of London: The Cheapside Hoard: London's Lost Jewels
• Wikepedia: The Cheapside Hoard

Pippa Middleton, Helena Asquith... and me

I'd like to meet Pippa Middleton. I think we'd get along famously. But I fear it will never happen. She won't invite me to any of her parties.

I could set my sights a bit lower. A Vanity Fair article a few months back had photos of the Asquith sisters Helena and Gabriela at the exclusive London club Lou Lou's. This photo has captured my imagination.  If I were thirty years younger, and single, and could gain access to Lou Lou's, this particular dream might be within reach. Those who share my fascination can read the Vanity Fair article by following this link. 

Wild Night Out in New Malden

Ah, the excitement of a Tuesday night out in New Malden. Particularly when it involves a stop at Bar Malden, located directly next to the train station on the High Street.  

Bar Malden, New Malden High Street

Based on the name, I feared the worst. Would it be one of those trendy new places featuring pricey wines, exotic martinis and techno music? Aren't pubs supposed to have names like The White Hart, George and Dragon, The King's Arms, or the Queen's Legs?

Exterior not withstanding (it's on the ground floor of a dreadful 1960s-vintage office tower), Bar Malden proved to be a standard neighborhood pub. The food wasn’t very good, but it wasn’t very expensive either. Nor was the alcohol. And all of it came quickly.

When it was time to go, I faced a dilemma. Does one tip bartenders in English pubs? When I asked the woman behind the bar, she just laughed and replied “Well, it’s nice, innit? But you don’t have to if you order at the bar.” I left her a pound anyway.

For those with long memories, Bar Malden includes the space formerly occupied  by the Chi Chi Chinese restaurant. But that was years ago. 

Jo Jo Laine, nee Joanne Lapatrie

I recently downloaded a song from 1964 on I Tunes.  It led me down a rabbit hole, or perhaps through the looking glass, searching for a woman who died eight years ago.

Here’s how it happened.

The song that launched this research project was the Moody Blues’ “Go Now.” I’ll never forget Denny Laine’s performance on national TV when “Go Now” was a Top 40 hit. In the middle of the song, he suddenly used one finger to jerk his eyebrow up and down with a quick vibrato-like movement.  It was bizarre and quirky, and I wondered at the time why he did it. I still wonder.

Jo Jo Laine, nee Joanne Lapatrie

I fell to musing on Denny Laine’s brief tenure with the band which went on to such success without him. That led me to research him on Wikipedia. There I learned he’d married someone named Jo Jo Laine. She has her own Wikipedia article. So I clicked on over to it.

Jo Jo, nee Joanne Lapatrie, is variously described as a model, singer and actress. She's also described as a groupie in the 1960s and 1970s. Born in 1952 or 1953, she was of my generation, only a year or two older than I. That was intriguing, so I ventured on, plodding through many web pages on various sites.

I’ve now invested an appalling amount of my precious time researching this woman’s life and likeness. I have gone so far as to purchase The McCartney Files by Bill Harry (Virgin Books Ltd, 1986, 192 pages). It contains information on Jo Jo because of her link with Wings through Denny Laine’s tenure with that band. According to The McCartney Files, Jo Jo sold her memoirs to the British tabloid Sunday People.  They include titles such as “My Galaxy of Pop Star Lovers” and “Lust at First Sight” and were published on April 17, April 18 and May 1, 1983. 

Oddly enough, one of those Sunday People articles was published on the day my daughter was born. As a father, it saddens me to read of Jo Jo losing her virginity to Jimi Hendrix at the tender age of 17, and cavorting with the swinish Jim Morrison when she probably wasn't much older. That’s just a sample of what you’ll find if you read through the links below.

I don’t like to think of her three children reading these things about their mother on the Internet. But by today’s standards, what she and other groupies did in those days isn’t so bad. True, they had one-night stands with musicians. That isn’t much worse than the casual sex and naked photo messaging that seems so widespread among young people today.  My guess is plenty of today’s girls don’t wait until age 17 to lose their virginity. Certainly 1960s groupie behavior pales in comparison to what porn stars do for money. And it seems porn is almost everywhere these days, even on DirectTV.

After all this research, I have to wonder how much of what I’ve read about Jo Jo Laine on the Internet is rumor, exaggeration, or simply made up. The 1983 Sunday People articles are probably the source for much of what one finds about her online. If I could only get my hands on those articles... At the rate I’m going, no doubt I’ll do that soon. 

Of the links below, the Daily Telegraph obituary is probably the most reliable.  Only Jo Jo knows the truth, but she left this mortal coil in 2006. Her accidental death from falling down a flight of stairs is strangely similar to that of Sandy Denny, a woman of the same times with the same weakness for drink. Here is yet another person of my generation, done in by substance abuse. It’s very sad. 

Links:

• Obituary - Daily Telegraph, November 4, 2006
• "Queen of the rock chicks" - Daily Mail, October  30, 2006 
• "Jo Jo Laine: original rock chick and super-groupie" - The Scotsman, November 2, 2006 
• " 'Rock chick' Jo Jo Laine dies after falling down the stairs" -  Daily Mail,October 31, 2006
• Jo Jo Laine - Wikipedia

Karn Evil 9, Hoeing Hall, and the U. of Rochester

Brace yourself: tonight I tackle a task I've long avoided. I'm going to explain Emerson Lake and Palmer’s “Karn Evil 9.”

As everyone who grew up in the 1970s surely knows, “Karn Evil 9” is a three-part song on the band’s fourth studio album, “Brain Salad Surgery.” Forget that “Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends” bit. It’s the Third Impression that has both enthralled and repulsed me since I first heard it in Hoeing Hall at the University of Rochester in 1973.  The lyrics begin with this memorable verse:

Man alone born of stone will stamp the dust of time
His hands strike the flame of his soul.
Ties a rope to a tree, and hangs the universe
Until the wind of laughter blows cold.

Eloquent, but there is something maddeningly obtuse about those metaphors. “Stamp the dust of time?” “Hangs the universe?” How does one strike the flame of his soul?  Why does he stop when the wind of laughter blows cold?

Brain Salad Surgery
Emerson Lake and Palmer

The second verse is better,but still has a problem:

Man of steel pray and kneel with fever's blazing torch 
Thrust into the face of the night.
Draws a blade of compassion kissed by countless kings 
Whose jewelled trumpet words blind his sight.
  

There's powerful Arthurian imagery there, godlike kings and the like. “Blade of compassion kissed by countless kings” has a fine alliterative ring. “Jeweled trumpet words” -- a memorable phrase. But is there a redundancy lurking in “words blind his sight?” I can't decide.

I don’t wish to be unkind to Peter Sinfield. The man was talented. I loved his King Crimson work, and his command of the English language. I wish I could write half as well as he does. But here’s the problem: what does it all mean? I don't demand profundity in my rock and roll. Status Quo does not have to be T. S. Eliot. Yet still I wonder: what are these lyrics saying? 

40 years on, I haven’t a clue. But I keep thinking about it, which I suppose is a tribute to Sinfield's ability. I'm not going to get into Keith Emerson's Hammond organ and piano solos, or the steel drum passage on side 2. But these lyrics made a searing impression on me. They were the backdrop for many strange adventures on the first floor of Hoeing Hall at the U of R. I still love “Karn Evil 9.” 

The phrase "brain salad surgery" can also be found in Dr. John's 1973 smash hit "Right Place Wrong Time." Some say ELP liked the phrase so much that they used at as their album's title. 

Viking Gold

Exploring Irish farmland with his metal detector, this retiree uncovered a Viking gold ingot. It's estimated to be over a thousand years old. In 15 years of treasure hunting, all he'd found previously was bottle caps and sixpenny coins. Read all about it here: 

Gold Viking Ingot Discovered by Amateur Treasure Hunter

Daily Telegraph, June 27, 2013

The ingot is one of only a few nuggets known from Ireland, experts said Photo: PA

The Lewis Man By Peter May

UK paperback 
(C) Quercus, 2012

Quercus; 2012; 435 pages

The second in the Lewis trilogy set in Scotland’s outer Hebrides, this is a gripping crime novel, well-written with believable characters.  

Like its predecessor, The Blackhouse, The Lewis Man follows an ex-policeman as he struggles to untangle a murder mystery. Along the way, he encounters many childhood acquaintances. At least that's the framework, but it's really about long-ago decisions touching multiple lives years later.  

There’s an agreeable air of melancholy, regret and damaged lives that works well with the grim Isle of Lewis setting. Being something of a rolling stone myself, I liked the idea of an isolated community where people are connected by family, friendship and past mistakes. And I was glad to find the same romantic tension between Fin MacLeod and childhood sweetheart Marsaili that made The Blackhouse so enjoyable. 

May's characters live and breathe. They have substance to them. Unlike Jack Reacher, ex-Detective Inspector  MacLeod doesn’t leave a trail of wrack and ruin everywhere he goes. He rarely finds it necessary to resort to violence. When his old friend punches him in a bar fight, he turns the other cheek, but not out of weakness. Author Peter May must be a man who has seen something of life and understands people.

To be honest, this effort doesn't quite equal the performance this author gave in The Blackhouse. The Lewis Man sometimes felt formulaic and over-written. The island is “storm-lashed;”  the wind “whips” twice in five pages; dialogue occasionally becomes a bit unnatural and encyclopedic, reminding me of the exposition in a Dan Brown novel. But these are minor objections. This book is much better written than I’ve come to expect from crime fiction, and well worth your time if you enjoy character-driven mysteries. 

N.B. I was so eager to get this book and its sequel, The Chessmen, that I paid a premium to order both (used) from England via Amazon.uk. That was in January; it seems both are more widely available in the U.S. now. 

The Tipperary Hoard

I have exciting news. It’s about… gold. That’s right, gold. I’m talking gold here. I’m hoping to discover a hoard of gold coins soon, like this lucky find in Ireland. This would ease my exit from corporate life. I’ll begin digging in the back yard tomorrow. 

Hunter Thompson

This month's Playboy magazine (yes, I still subscribe) reprints a 1974 interview with Hunter Thompson, which concludes with the following statement:

"Nobody expected me to live past 20. Least of all me. I just assume, well, I got through today, but tomorrow might be different. This is a very weird and twisted world; you can't afford to get careless; don't fuck around. You want to keep your affairs in order at all times."

The Les Riceys Hoard

A construction worker found these gold coins hidden in the attic of a building undergoing renovation in Les Riceys, France. They were probably there for about 80 years. Estimated value: about $1 million.



Coin World, Feb. 25, 2013 (click for link)

A Horrid Dream

It was my first day in a new high school. I was searching for the place to pick up my class schedule. It seemed very important that I know my schedule, and get to that first class on time.

 

Nobody seemed to know where I could get my schedule. There was almost nobody in the school at all. I found myself in a hallway with aluminum wire racks against the wall. Someone gave me a packet and I opened it. But instead of my class schedule, the packet contained a set of gym clothes, including Jockey shorts in the school colors. On closer inspection, the Jockey shorts were much too small… so small that a newborn couldn’t have squeezed into them.

 

I kept plodding through the corridors, looking for someone who could tell me my schedule, beginning to suspect that it wasn’t the first day of school at all.

What does all this mean? Perhaps it symbolized a deep-seated yearning for order and structure in my life. But there was no structure. I was trying desperately to follow the rules. But there were no rules.

The Blackhouse By Peter May

368 pages
SilverOak, October 2012


I read a lot of fiction. But seldom does a book grab and hold me like The Blackhouse. Once the story got going, I literally couldn't put it down. On one memorable night I read straight through until midnight. Next day, I found some uninterrupted quiet time, shut myself in the guest room and finished it. Guys who live for reading learn to savor experiences like this.

I also did a couple of things I always do when a book really appeals to me: I started researching it on the Internet. And I wrote a blog post about it. This blog post, in fact. And I've even begun to toy with the idea of a trip to the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides, where this story is set.

This is a thriller and a murder mystery. There's a decent plot summary behind the link above, so I won't go into that here. As a mystery it's very well executed, but as the story unfolded that  became secondary to my enjoyment of The Blackhouse. This is more than just a crime novel. Far more appealing to me were the bleak island setting and great local color. In that sense it reminded me of Tawni O’Dell’s novel Back Roads [discussed elsewhere in this blog].

But without question, the best part of this book to this reader was the bittersweet subplot involving Detective Inspector Fin MacLeod and his old flame Marsaili MacDonald. Their pain and regret over teenage cruelties and roads not taken struck a deep chord within me. So did their disapppointing experience at the University of Glasgow, where Fin discovers he's not really interested in the arts, or in studying, or in Marsaili. This side of the story brought back sad feelings from my own youth. Surprisingly, nobody mentions those plot elements in any of the online discussions I've read. Perhaps I'm just a sentimentalist at heart.

I was very happy to learn that the sequel, The Lewis Man, features Fin. I hope it brings back Marsaili as well. For me, the romantic tension she brought to the book added a lot to this reading experience, although I wonder whether he can maintain it in the sequels. I'll know soon enough. I've just ordered The Lewis Man and The Chessmen from Amazon.co.uk (not available yet in any form in the U.S. as far as I can tell).

I've read Ian Rankin and Denise Mina.  I've long been interested in Scottish writers and settings. In part, that's due to my years in pipe bands and many memorable Scots I met as part of that effort. There's a well-known bagpipe tune called Stornaway. My first pipe band played it frequently, often with the better-known Skye Boat Song. Stornaway is in the area where much of The Blackhouse takes place. Small world.

Author's web site: http://maypeter.com/