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www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/photo/woman-using-laptop-computer-royalty-free-image/155966090
The modern day version of quill pen, a laptop popped on the kitchen table, old books shoved aside, and away the author goes.
“I'm all in favor of keeping dangerous weapons out of the hands of fools. Let's start with typewriters.”
(Frank Lloyd Wright)
But my aunt, Helen Rand Parish, to whom this Smith-Corona Super-Speed typewriter belonged, was no fool: she was an accomplished wordsmith, a weaver and spinner of tales, a historian and someone whose words affected people. With and without the Floating Shift key on her keyboard.
bithbox # 206
James McMurtry "We Can't Make It"
James McMurtry, one of modern America's greatest wordsmiths, played Houston last week. This is one of his classic songs.
A local who we met, born and bred in Dalhart, TX, described the place as a sinkhole.
"Dust devils dance in the noonday heat
There's rats in the alley and trash in the street
Gang graffiti on a boxcar door
We can't make it here anymore"
Artist
Edwin Georgi (1896 - 1964)
Circa 1948?
Read More about Edwin Georgi at the end of the Algonquin Roundtable recount..
****************************************************************
“We were telling stories, trying to guess if the tale told was fact or fiction. M… came up with this story, chilling in the way it was so wretchedly confessed to us. Most of us thought it was fact, but didn’t really want to believe it.
(read fact or fiction? At the end of the background section)
BACKGROUND
“Algonquin Round Table writers, a group of town wits who had converged on New York in the late 1910s. From their positions as columnists, essayists, and drama critics, this "all-star literary vaudeville," as Edmund Wilson called them, nourished a light, sharp, mocking tone aimed at well-known personalities, among whom they counted themselves. Wartime friends Franklin P. Adams, Harold Ross, Heywood Broun, and Alexander Woollcott were among the bantering quipsters who began meeting for daily lunches at the Algonquin Hotel. With so many clever wordsmiths, this self-named "vicious circle" soon became famous for its ingenious puns, quips, and insults appearing immediately in print in someone's column.”
The Algonquin Round Table was a celebrated group of New York City writers, critics, actors and wits. Gathering initially as part of a practical joke, members of "The Vicious Circle", as they dubbed themselves, met for lunch each day at the Algonquin Hotel from 1919 until roughly 1929. At these luncheons they engaged in wisecracks, wordplay and witticisms that, through the newspaper columns of Round Table members, were disseminated across the country.
"Their form of social media was just that: social. Imagine having the time every day to break for a couple hours to have lunch with your funny, intelligent friends? They didn’t post witty replies on Facebook. They said them face-to-face, such as the time Dorothy Parker was asked to use the word “horticulture” in a sentence: “You can lead a horticulture but you can’t make her think.” Was her quick response.
Daily association with each other, both at the luncheons and outside of them, inspired members of the Circle to collaborate creatively. The entire group worked together successfully only once, however, to create a revue called No Sirree! which helped launch a Hollywood career for Round Tabler Robert Benchley.
In its ten years of association, the Round Table and a number of its members acquired national reputations both for their contributions to literature and for their sparkling wit. Although some of their contemporaries, and later in life even some of its members, disparaged the group, its reputation has endured long after its dissolution.
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An elderly lady known to one of us was from the States, was visited with quite often before she passed on. She was a school chum of Tallulah and related this Roundtable tale told to her.
We would be quite interested to learn more of the story and possibly about the incident retold below. If anyone is aware of an occurrence similar to this one in or even outside of Pennsylvania please feel free to tell us about it.
Fact or Fiction?
As Related to Emily over afternoon Tea one spring day……..
“We were playing a game, telling each other stories, and then trying to guess if the story was fact or fiction. Darling Harpo had suggested playing it after the reaction he had received for mischievously calling out a distraught Bea on the facts for a bit of society gossip she had been relating….”
“ We gone midway round the circle, and When challenged, M… came up with this story, chilling in the way it was so wretchedly confessed to us. Most of us thought it was fact, but didn’t really want to believe it had occurred. “
“I give the story as best I can through memory, only ever hearing it the one time years ago now. I believe I have captured its’ essence, but I could never in words captured the tortured look, or trembling manner that was shown when it was told before the group. All I can say is, either way; it was a masterful performance….”
The Confession ( story):
M lit a cigarette, and after sending a few wisps of smoke up to dance upon the ceiling, began the tale…
“I have done may things in my life I have later regretted, but this one, in particular, I have never told a living soul until now….” Drawing a deep breath, the story was continued.
“I have always had a curious streak to observe people’s reactions when in various situations. To get a better grasp of how my characters should act. It greatly piqued me to watch, without being seen, a person’s true emotions coming into play. Ralph Waldo Emerson once famously quoted that “ People do not seem to realize that their opinion of the world is also a confession of character” ... and that intriguing thought was what originally sent me on my quest..
Sometimes I was the protagonist behind the scenes whom, unbeknownst to the victims, had set them up. Sometimes I just followed and watched their behavior. I never intended for anyone to get hurt, emotionally or physically. But sometimes they did! Then I would solace my conscience by telling it that I was only doing it to improve upon my craft. But, then this one time, I probably did go a little bit too far….”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Sends a few more puffs of his cigarette wafting in smoky curls upwards as if in thought on how to actually begin…
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
“As a young man I would attend all different sorts of functions from all different levels of society to come up with ideas. I ran the gauntlet, from cock fights, hobo’s gathering around a campfire, to a wedding reception worthy of the Rockefellers. I noticed that I felt more at home with the hobos, than the fat cats. A condition, I am sure, caused by some flaw in my character. “
“But this instance, the function I encountered definitely belonged to the latter, Rockefeller fat cat , set.
The event, I soon learned, was the Homecoming of a small private College in a wealthy Pennsylvania community. Not my Alma Mater, but just a place I happened to be passing through which I had stopped whilst traveling home. “
“That there was a function going on in that little place was not hard to miss; the attendees were pouring out onto the streets from all sorts of establishments, and into others, including the bar I was holed up in. After a while I noticed a change in dress of the revelers costumes. School blazers and sensible dresses began to be replaced by tuxes and swishing satin gowns and colourful frocks. Their adornments also changed, from school ties to bow ties, Boaters (straw hats) to top hats for the men: Gold jewelry was replaced by sparkling necklaces and rings upon gloved hands for the ladies.”
“Another change was, that by then, the lot of them was pretty much plastered, but then, so was I!”
“ Finally I was flushed out of my hiding spot , and went for a walk outside to escape the noisy crowd.
I started to circle the upper portion of a large rural park that ran next to my late hiding spot. As I strolled, I noticed a man with a heavy coat and cap, rather sinisterly watching the crowd, standing against a tree just up ahead of me. When he saw me coming towards him, he turned down a path leading into the shadowy depths of the woods. I watched him go down for a minute, and observed that it led down to a small valley, where in the middle, surrounded by trees, stood a quite deserted football field. The path less traveled tonight, I thought to myself.
I kept to the path well-travelled however, and soon after turning a corner, came upon a young couple snogging on a bench. I stopped to watch, my mind racing with a mixture of drink inspired contemplations upon the little scene before me! “
“She was dolled up like a picture actress. Wearing a slithery glossy red gown that shined in the gas lamps pooling light, with matching gloves and a shimmering gold purse, she was a breathing Pygmalion . The jewels she was adorned with, rhinestones, I assumed, glittered happily as she moved. He was in a tux, an Errol Flynn moustache and gold watch chain and fob at his waist. They had no idea anyone was near them! Of course, Then, my cursed foot gave me away all too soon, as it stepped upon a twig, snapping it loudly, calling the couples attention to my peeping. Seeing me they got up and walked past me, snooty noses up in the air. She made a rude noise that would have better fitted an old mare in a barn. Well pardon my eyes I though, stinging from the obvious smite upon my character, which I always had held in high regard. Why dress in that manner and think no one deserves to take notice unless they meet with your approval? The princess was obviously not amused…”
“ I watched with disdain, and then , still transfixed, followed at a discreet distance as they walked back the way I had come. For some reason I was mesmerized by the pair of snobs, watching as they moved, her red gown swishing and swirling like a red waterfall upon the paved stones. They were holding closely onto one another, once again totally oblivious to their surroundings. There was a story there, if only…. “
“They stopped, and I went into the shadow of a tree. Looking back up the path they had come, I thought they may have seen my shadow. For they then looking again to each other, she murmured something and they turned down the very path, the path less travelled, that the heavy coated man had slinked away down. I felt maybe I should have run up and cautioned them against taking that path, but I was still stung by their rude reaction… Besides, I was rather curious to see if anything would happen.
In for pence, in for a pound I remember repeating to myself, as I discreetly continued my stalk.”
“I went into the shadows, seeing a large set of rocks beside the path I climbed up, getting a view of the path winding down into the small valley. I was just above a gas lamp that lit the path as it reached the valley floor below. The lamps lite effectively shadowed the rock whence I was perched. I could see the pair walking in and out of the shadows of the trees. Just as they reached the circle of light below me they stopped and embraced. I watched, totally unabashed.
Then, as I grew bored, or maybe my drink induced fog was started to clear my mind back to reality, I slowly started to make an exit stage right , when a shadow detached itself from a tree directly below me. I stayed mute and froze in my tracks, watching the event I knew was going to occur, began to unfold. The man’s shadowy figure approached the oblivious couple carefully, I could see his head jerking about making sure that the couple was alone, and unprotected. Picking up a chunk of wood he entered the circle of light, which now formed a small stage where a tragedy worthy of Shakespeare was most likely about to unfold!”
“I watched as the startled lovers became aware and tried to stare down the newcomer.
Now in the light, I could see He had shed his coat and gained a mask, but it was definitely the same sinister man I had seen earlier, obviously up to no good. The Errol Flynn wannabe put the girl behind him in defense, the masked man merely raised branch and whacked him on the side of his head, it broke with a sickening crunch, and her gallant defender went down like a sack of cement.
The sinister figure then turned his attention to the now helpless damsel in distress. Raising a cupped hand up he said something in a raspy voice that startled her. Apparently he was asking for her jewels, and the horror struck damsel had arrogantly not yet realized she was being mugged. The ladies long earrings shimmering as she shook her head no in response. The rings on her gloved fingers flashed as her hand went to her throat as she clearly cried out,” not my necklace”, in a hapless act of defiance. In my mind came a picture of a small kitten trying to defy a snarling wolf. She threw the gold purse at him, but he merely caught it, and placed it in his pocket. I remember feeling strangely detached, It may have been shock, but I found myself watching without one ounce of regret. The only thought I could remember was her glittering necklace, maybe they had not been rhinestones, which meant that she actually was wealthy and probably had been looking down her snooty nose upon me, like she probably did her own servants !!.
Well than she obviously did not desire my help, I decided, like she had quite rudely not desired my looking at her earlier… and after all , in her world, servants should be standing quietly in the background, seen but not heard. So, I decided that I wasn’t going to help unless absolutely life or death. Let the little lamb be trimmed of her rich wool I said to myself. She did show spunk, I will admit, but that’s all it was, a show. She went limp as he reached up, grabbing her hand away, than began pulling of the rings as she stood mute with disbelief. The diamond bracelet was wrenched unceremoniously from her wrist. Dropping her hand, he pocketed her rings and bracelet. Than he once again went for her necklace, and she backed up, shaking her head, earrings again shimmering as the pair innocently bounced away from her long hair. Then I saw a flash of silver in his hand, and she fainted dead away at the sight of his ugly blade…”.
“The masked man knelt over to her fallen body. The shiny red gown had spilled around her on the ground, Laying about her inert svelte figure like a pool of red lava. Reaching down and in he claimed her necklace, grasping it up and away from her throat. He looked at it for a few seconds, letting it sparkle in the moon’s light like slivery falling rain.
Then squatting beside her, he pulled away her hair, and yanked her taunting earrings free. He methodically felt along her figure, missing nothing. Then he again produced the knife, slicing off the brooch from her gown’s sash.
He pulled off her red high heels and threw tem deep into the woods.
Then he left her and went over to the unconscious escort, the bloody limb next to him” in quick, precise fashion, ‘Errol’s’, watch chain and fob were pulled free and pocketed. Then he reached in and pulled out the unlucky devils pocket book. Then pulling off ‘Errol’s’ shoes they soon joined the ladies high heels.
Arising calmly, he slowly looked around as he stowed the stolen articles and his knife away. He spent a split second longer on the area I was hidden, causing a shiver to make itself felt! Then, removing the mask he walked to where his long coat lay, and reclaiming it, he continued serenely on his way down the path. I watched in heavy silence as he disappeared in the woods, only to reappear by the football field. It was then that I stole away back up the path, careful not to be seen.”
“And no, I did not give any cry of alarm, did not involve myself by seeking or giving the hapless couple aid. I simply turned and left. I came away with nothing, no ideas, no new feelings for a character, just a sour taste in my mouth and an upset stomach, which I soon tried to relieve by stopping in at the next drinking establishment I came across. Beer didn’t help, so I switched to Scotch…!”
“ About an hour later I heard a siren and sensed commotion outside the confides of my prison. I did not go out to investigate.”
“After a fit less night of unrestful sleep, I left the next morning, daring not to read a paper, or stop there for breakfast ( having a late tea later a few hours away , I put the place and its memories to my back. “
“Ashamedly I did not render any assistance those poor souls, and I admit what I what I did was criminal.. But then in my defense , they ………………….., ”
“Yes?”
“It was at this point that the confession was interrupted by the appearance of a messenger boy sent for M….. Who took his leave, with a wicked smile that seemed to convey relief that an outcome of the story would not have to be faced?
Obliviously loving the mystery it created by the timely appearance of the messenger.” He never could be persuaded to return to his story only smiling that wicked little smile.
So, the worse of it was we never knew… because of the messenger boy’s interruption, never to learn to our satisfaction if the story was true or not..”
“How we all did hate that!”
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There is some question as to the identity of M…. There are six members with M in their initial. It could have been a non-regular or even a nickname. If anyone else has heard of this tale, or could place a finger for us as to who M… may have been, we would welcome the enlightenment.
Charter members of the Round Table included:
Franklin Pierce Adams, columnist
Robert Benchley, humorist and actor
Heywood Broun, columnist and sportswriter (married to Ruth Hale)
Marc Connelly, playwright
Ruth Hale, freelance writer who worked for women's rights
George S. Kaufman, playwright and director
Dorothy Parker
“The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.”
“If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.”
“What fresh hell is this?”
Robert E. Sherwood, author and playwright
John Peter Toohey, publicist
Alexander Woollcott, critic and journalist
"The English have an extraordinary ability for flying into a great calm."
Membership was not official or fixed for so many others who moved in and out of the Circle. Some of these included:
Tallulah Bankhead, actress
Edna Ferber, author and playwright
Margalo Gillmore, actress
Jane Grant, journalist and feminist (married to Ross)
Beatrice Kaufman, editor and playwright (married to George S. Kaufman)
Margaret Leech, writer and historian
Neysa McMein, magazine illustrator
Harpo Marx, comedian and film star
Alice Duer Miller, writer
Donald Ogden Stewart, playwright and screenwriter
Frank Sullivan, journalist and humorist
Deems Taylor, composer
Estelle Winwood, actress
Peggy Wood, actress
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
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Edwin Georgi
(1896 - 1964)
A leader in the second wave of "pretty-girl" artists: more like pin-ups without actually being pin-ups. Largely self-taught, learning his way up in ad and art agencies. A pilot in WWI. Style ranged from simple, posteresque lines and colors to his more famous pointillist pieces with boldly directed light, a unique use of warm shadows, and sparkling colors. Ads for Webster Cigars, Woodbury, Ford Mercury, Crane paper, Yardley, The Italian Line. In-demand illustrator for Goldenbook Magazine, Fortune, Redbook, Woman's Home Companion, Cosmo, True, Esquire, Ladies' Home Journal,Saturday Evening Post, American Girl, Liberty.
Edwin Georgi was born in 1896 and died in 1964 at the age of 68. He was a pilot in WWI– though I was unable to gather details about his specific tour of duty. Upon returning from the war, he attended Princeton. Eventually he abandoned his education to pursue writing as a full time profession. He was very ambitious, but a turn of fate pushed him another way. He was hired on to write copy for an ad agency , but was persuaded by his employer that he would make a better painter than a writer. Thus his career in illustration began.
Remarkably, he was largely self-taught. He worked his way up the artistic food chain with experience at various ad groups and agencies. His work is known in several national publications; Cosmo, Esquire, Redbook, Ladies’ Home Journal, and The Saturday Evening Post.
Edwin’s style is striking. Very few artists exude the dynamic movement of color as he does. His paintings have a texture that is entirely unique– his staccato strokes seem akin to pointillism, and weave a mesh of breathtaking pallets . Most noir art is obsessed with light and shadow, but Edwin Georgi’s art oscillates betwixt hue and contrast.
Happy Bench Monday!/ HBM
This one at Wordsmith's café, at the University of Queensland
www.poetrylibrary.edu.au/poets/noonuccal-oodgeroo/a-song-...
"My Babygirl mmmm,...Pregnant and Still Sexy." -Carnal Wordsmith
JustBECAUSE Nessa Swimsuit (Sheer)
youtu.be/5NbI3d-EmEA
I'll rent a beach house in Miami
Wake up with no jammies (nope)
Lobster tail for dinner (yeah)
Julio, serve that scampi (Julio!)
You got it if you want it
Got, got it if you want it
Said, you got it if you want it
Take my wallet if you want it, now
Jump in the Cadillac
Girl, let's put some miles on it
Anything you want
Just to put a smile on it
You deserve it, baby, you deserve it all
And I'm gonna give it to you
Gold jewelry shining so bright
Strawberry champagne on ice
Lucky for you, that's what I like, that's what I like
Lucky for you, that's what I like, that's what I like
Sex by the fire at night
Silk sheets and diamonds all white
Lucky for you, that's what I like, that's what I like
Lucky for you, that's what I like, that's what I like
Daniel Barter Photography on Facebook
A residence has been on the site of the current manor since as early as the 15th century - perhaps earlier. It was once the residence of the famous English wordsmith John Milton. The current manor was rebuilt in 1848. Unfortunately, It has been abandoned since 1987 and is now protected by an angry shotgun welding farmer and an adolescent bull.
Bernard Levin (1928-2004) was – indeed, remains – one of my journalistic role models and heroes. He was a renowned theatre critic and later became one of the most influential and respected voices in journalism during the 20th century. Not only was he a fearless and incisive writer, but his wit, intelligence and sharp tongue concerning politics, society, corruption and hypocrisy also gained him a strong television following – beginning, in 1962, with the BBC’s ground-breaking That Was The Week That Was.
Bernard Levin was also an author and wrote books on a range of subjects, from politics and culture to a trip down the Rhine. He was appointed a CBE (Commander of the Order of the British Empire) in 1990 for his services to journalism and was awarded an honorary doctorate from the University of Oxford. He died from Alzheimer’s Disease at the age of 75 and is buried in Brompton Cemetery, London.
The day I was there was quite muddy after a lot of rain, so the gravestone wasn’t as clean as it would usually be. I hope the daffodil helped. The quotation on the gravestone reads: ‘Words have an existence of their own. They are not ours to command altogether freely; but without us they cannot come to life’. Well, he should know, because Bernard Levin was one of the great modern wordsmiths writing in the English language.
Carnal is going to be an amazing father!
Me on the other hand...I know she will be loved-just nervous about changing diapers, feeding her, clothing her... etc etcetera.
Is this a new mom thing????
From the great organ of St. Curvy's, my tribute to the greatest wordsmith on Flickr.
Pull that knob and watch him blow!!!
The Vows, before God, made Him essentially THE Lord of these rings..and our home.
23 years, later and, PTL, He still is our central cornerstone.
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And for those who need so desperately a Restorer, a Comforter..there's hope. The story of Joseph is told by my fav wordsmith, Max Lucado here..read on and rekindle hope.
Family Wounds Are Slow to Heal
by Max Lucado, You'll Get Through This
Family wounds are slow to heal.
I hope your childhood was a happy time when your parents kept everyone fed, safe, and chuckling. I hope your dad came home every day, your mom tucked you in bed every night, and your siblings were your best friends.
But if not, you need to know you aren’t alone. The most famous family tree in the Bible suffered from a serious case of blight. Adam accused Eve. Cain killed his little brother. Abraham lied about Sarah. Rebekah favored Jacob. Jacob cheated Esau and then raised a gang of hoodlums.
The book of Genesis is a relative disaster.
Joseph didn’t deserve to be abandoned by his brothers. True, he wasn’t the easiest guy to live with. He boasted about his dreams and tattled on his siblings. He deserved some of the blame for the family friction. But he certainly didn’t deserve to be dumped into a pit and sold to merchants for pocket change.
The perpetrators were his ten older brothers. His brothers were supposed to look out for him. Joseph’s brothers were out of line. And his father? Jacob was out of touch.
With all due respect, the patriarch could have used a course on marriage and family life.
Mistake number one: he married a woman he didn’t love so he could marry one he did. Mistake number two: the two wives were sisters. (Might as well toss a lit match into a fireworks stand.) The first sister bore him sons. The second sister bore him none. So to expand his clan, he slept with an assortment of handmaidens and concubines until he had a covey of kids. Rachel, his favorite wife, finally gave birth to Joseph, who became his favorite son. She later died giving birth to a second son, Benjamin, leaving Jacob with a contentious household and a broken heart.
Jacob coped by checking out. Obstinate sons. Oblivious dad. The brothers needed a father. The father needed a wake-up call. And Joseph needed a protector. But he wasn’t protected; he was neglected. And he landed in a distant, dark place.
Initially, Joseph chose not to face his past. By the time he saw his brothers again, Joseph had been prime minister for nearly a decade. The kid from Canaan had come a long way.
Joseph could travel anywhere he wanted, yet he chose not to return to Canaan. He knew where to find his family, but he chose not to contact them.
He kept family secrets a secret. Untouched and untreated. Joseph was content to leave his past in the past. But God was not.
Restoration matters to God. The healing of the heart involves the healing of the past.
So God shook things up.
All countries came to Joseph in Egypt to get grain, because the famine was severe in all lands. — Genesis 41:57
And in the long line of folks appealing for an Egyptian handout, look what the cat dragged in.
Joseph heard them before he saw them. He was fielding a question from a servant when he detected the Hebrew chatter. Not just the language of his heart but the dialect of his home. The prince motioned for the servant to stop speaking. He turned and looked. There they stood.
The brothers were balder, grayer, rough skinned. They were pale and gaunt with hunger. Sweaty robes clung to their shins, and road dust chalked their cheeks. These Hebrews stuck out in sophisticated Egypt like hillbillies at Times Square.
They didn’t recognize him. His beard was shaved, his robe was royal, and the language he spoke was Egyptian. It never occurred to them that they were standing before their baby brother.
Thinking the prince couldn’t understand Hebrew, the brothers spoke to him with their eyes and gestures. They pointed at the stalks of grain and then at their mouths. They motioned to the brother who carried the money, and he stumbled forward and spilled the coins on the table.
When Joseph saw the silver, his lips curled, and his stomach turned. He had named his son God Made Me Forget, but the money made him remember. The last time he saw coins in the hands of Jacob’s older boys, they were laughing, and he was whimpering. That day at the pit he searched these faces for a friend, but he found none. And now they dared bring silver to him?
Joseph called for a Hebrew-speaking servant to translate. Then Joseph scowled at his brothers.
He acted as a stranger to them and spoke roughly to them. — Genesis 42:7
The brothers fell face-first in the dirt, which brought to Joseph’s mind a childhood dream.
“Uh, well, we’re from up the road in Canaan. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”
Joseph glared at them. “Nah, I don’t believe you. Guards, put these spies under arrest. They are here to infiltrate our country.”
The ten brothers spoke at once. “You’ve got it all wrong, Your High, Holy, and Esteemed Honor. We’re salt of the earth. We belong to the same family. That’s Simeon over there. That’s Judah... Well, there are twelve of us in all. At least there used to be.
The youngest is now with our father, and one is no longer living. — Genesis 42:13
Joseph gulped at the words. This was the first report on his family he had heard in twenty years. Jacob was alive. Benjamin was alive. And they thought he was dead.
“Tell you what,” he snapped. “I’ll let one of you go back and get your brother and bring him here. The rest of you I’ll throw in jail.”
With that, Joseph had their hands bound. A nod of his head, and they were marched off to jail. Perhaps the same jail where he had spent at least two years of his life.
What a curious series of events. The gruff voice, harsh treatment. The jail sentence. The abrupt dismissal. We’ve seen this sequence before with Joseph and his brothers, only the roles were reversed. On the first occasion they conspired against him. This time he conspired against them. They spoke angrily. He turned the tables. They threw him in the hole and ignored his cries for help. Now it was his turn to give them the cold shoulder.
What was going on?
I think he was trying to get his bearings. This was the toughest challenge of his life. The famine, by comparison, was easy. Mrs. Potiphar he could resist. Pharaoh’s assignments he could manage. But this mixture of hurt and hate that surged when he saw his flesh and blood? Joseph didn’t know what to do.
Maybe you don’t either.
Your family failed you. Your early years were hard ones. The people who should have cared for you didn’t. But, like Joseph, you made the best of it. You’ve made a life for yourself. Even started your own family. You are happy to leave Canaan in the rearview mirror. But God isn’t.
He gives us more than we request by going deeper than we ask. He wants not only your whole heart; He wants your heart whole. Why? Hurt people hurt people. Think about it. Why do you fly off the handle? Why do you avoid conflict? Why do you seek to please everyone? Might your tendencies have something to do with an unhealed hurt in your heart?
God wants to help you for your sake. And for the sake of your posterity.
Suppose Joseph had refused his brothers? Summarily dismissed them? Washed his hands of the whole mess? God’s plan for the nation of Israel depended upon the compassion of Joseph. A lot was at stake here.
There is a lot at stake with you too. Yes, your family history has some sad chapters. But your history doesn’t have to be your future. The generational garbage can stop here and now. You don’t have to give your kids what your ancestors gave you.
Talk to God about the scandals and scoundrels. Invite Him to relive the betrayal with you. Bring it out in the open. Joseph restaged the hurt for a reason.
Revealing leads to healing.
Let God do His work. The process may take a long time. It may take a lifetime.
Family pain is the deepest pain because it was inflicted so early and because it involves people who should have been trustworthy.
Let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. — Romans 12:2
Let Him replace childish thinking with mature truth (1 Corinthians 13:11). You are God’s child. His creation. Destined for heaven. You are a part of His family. Let Him set you on the path to reconciliation.
Joseph did. The process would prove to be long and difficult. It occupies four chapters of the Bible and at least a year on the calendar, but Joseph took the first step. After three days Joseph released his brothers from jail. He played the tough guy again. “Go on back. But I want to see this kid brother you talk about. I’ll keep one of you as a guarantee.”
They agreed and then, right in front of Joseph, rehashed the day they dry-gulched him:
Then they said to one another, ‘We are truly guilty concerning our brother, for we saw the anguish of his soul when he pleaded with us, and we would not hear; therefore this distress has come upon us’. — Genesis 42:21
Again, they did not know that the prince understood Hebrew. But he did. And when he heard the words, Joseph turned away so they couldn’t see his eyes fill with tears. He stepped into the shadows and wept. He did this seven more times. He didn’t cry when he was promoted by Potiphar or crowned by Pharaoh, but he blubbered like a baby when he learned that his brothers hadn’t forgotten him after all. When he sent them back to Canaan, he loaded their saddlebags with grain. A moment of grace.
With that small act, healing started. If God healed that family, who’s to say He won’t heal yours?
Healing of the heart involved healing of the past
For Reflection
Listed below are several words and phrases that characterize some of the hardships and dysfunction evident in Joseph’s family. Which issues have marked your family?
❑ abandonment
❑ troubled marriage(s)
❑ premature death
❑ hatred
❑ sibling rivalry
❑ favoritism
❑ severe grief
❑ disregard for others
❑ parental abdication
❑ guilt
❑ deception
❑ betrayal
❑ infertility
❑ resentment
❑ abuse
❑ extramarital relationships
❑ harsh treatment
❑ brokenness
❑ self-absorption
❑ secrecy
❑ neglect
Part of the healing process includes unearthing the details — the specifics of how you were hurt — and inviting God to relive those experiences with you. What help do you need from God? How do you want to experience His presence, comfort, or guidance?
Coming face-to-face with old hurts can be disorienting. When Joseph first encountered his brothers again, he withheld his identity, spoke harshly, made false accusations, jailed them, released them, put conditions on their departure and return, held one of them hostage, concealed powerful emotions, and was secretly generous to them (Genesis 42:6-28). What conflicting thoughts and emotions surface when you consider the possibility of engaging old hurts and the people connected with them?
Joseph’s path to reconciliation with his family was long and difficult, but it began with a small act of mercy and grace — he loaded his brothers’ saddlebags with grain and quietly returned the silver they had paid for it. A gift, free and clear.
What small act of mercy and grace do you sense God inviting you to extend to someone in your family?
from You'll Get Through This by Max Lucado,
(SHHHHHPOILERS!!)
Here's a picture of the Doc, well actually, a pair-’o-Docs. And a Silurian. Riding a dinosaur! On a spaceship!
Participants include a "Jurassic Park" 'tricey', which you can see has a little pre-scored chunk of flesh that can be popped out to reveal juicy internal organs...what a jolly kiddy toy that one was! I've got the 3rd and 11th Doctor from the big "11 Doctor Who" action figure set. Oh, yes and a Silurian lassy. Throw in a couple of velociraptors. A TARDIS telephone ringer. And one of the Galoob toy "Star Trek Next Generation" shuttlecrafts. All snapped against the traditional black velvet backdrop. Fun, eh? Though I don't mind telling you that it was a regular pain to set up, as the dino's got a broad back and everyone had to ride side saddle, and kept dismounting, and then the whole thing tended to slide off the smooth-hulled shuttlecraft but I had to persevere because it's not Dinosaurs OFF a spaceship, after all.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Australian broadcast of Doctor Who's "Dinosaurs On A Spaceship" (September 16th, 2012) felt like it had been quirkily fortified with an injection of DNA (That is to say, Douglas N. Adams, who apart from the obvious “H2G2” connection was also a former story editor and writer for “Doctor Who”), perhaps most obviously manifest in the rusty tantrum throwing robots, fussily voiced by comedy duo, Mitchell and Webb. (David Mitchell has some interesting links to Doctor Who criticism and satire. Oh, go google it yourself!) You’ve got to love them or hate them but then again they’re not in your face for all that long and besides, I have a sneaking suspicion that they must just be ‘taking off’ the Ponds, on a bad day!
Writer Chris Chibnall's script cheerfully flaunts its gimmick in the breathless title (Did you catch the saurian scales in the actual title card in the opening credits?) but he's far too accomplished a wordsmith to fail to properly flesh out what could've been a one note concept. I loved the way all the wee details introduced came back as little grace notes later on. Joss Whedon would approve! Chibnall has lashings of experience with the pivotal though off-stage Silurians as well as heavy duty Whovian and genre credits. His C.V is another one to google for. (I'll wait.)
Doctor 3.0, Jon Pertwee, and companion Sarah Jane Smith, Elisabeth Sladen, along with the stalwart squaddies from U.N.I.T famously struggled with some sadly wobbly looking saurians in the 1974 serial, “Invasion Of The Dinosaurs.” (Dinosaurs! Time travelling! In Chroma Key!) Even for back then they looked a bit rubbish; hardly an issue here with the splendid CGI critters and some well sculpted physical props on display. No, I shan’t be smug about it, or indeed, ‘Smaug’, following the reptilian line. How do you think today’s special effects wizards GOT so good anyway...by standing on the shoulders of the teshnicians before them.
The usual breakneck, one story per episode, pace worked mostly to the story's advantage, though in this case it did mean we were shortchanged with the ad-hoc companions, who inevitably ended up as slightly sketchy tertiary characters once the main 'gang' slots were filled with the Ponds and Rory's dad. Although it helps if you just think of them as similar background level characters to, say, the personable security guards, Stubbs and Cotton, in Bob Baker and Dave Martin's 3rd Doctor era serial, "The Mutants". (By the way, "The Mutants" is set in the 24th Century, same as "Dinos"! Where was there spacefleet?) The single episode format of "Dinos" prevents them from rising to, for example, the same delightful level as Jago and Litefoot from the 4th Doctor story "The Talons of Weng-Chiang."
I still enjoyed meeting Queen Nefertiti and Mr Riddell, with the former having fun with the saucily haughty historical stereotype and the latter channeling fictional adventurer Allan Quatermain. (Moore please!) Rupert Graves was a suitably 'pukka' hero with an appropriate measure of cool professional enthusiasm so long as he can bag a dino tooth. Best moments for Neffers was when she got flirty with Riddell and later kicked Solomon...right in the crutch!
Although the historical proximity of Lestrade..sorry..Riddell, Nefertiti, Jago, Litefoot, and the Silurian Samurai Vastra and her sidekick, Jenny, along with other Victorian/Edwardian Doctor Who characters does make me think that there could be a rather spiffing period team-up story along the lines of "The League Of Extraordinary Companions". Which is only fair, since Alan Moore's perfect pastiche tips its hat to both Silurians and Sea-Devils as well as several Doctors.
WHERE did the Doctor pick up an Edwardian big game hunter as a friend, anyway? Perhaps some ripping yarn in which an alien hunter ironically stalks human prey barricaded in an isolated hunting lodge...? It seems as if it would be out of character for the Doctor to hunt for sport, but try telling that to the astonishingly assorted bag of beasties that’s he topped over the years, purely in self defence or to look after others. Bemusingly enough, when he drops Nefi and Riddell back off in the early 20th Century, they still seem to have the high tech stun guns with them, which hopefully will make Riddell's hunting a bit less lethal. Well, safari, so good. Bring 'Em Back Alive Riddell? Maybe he'll hook up with Carl Denham, in a few decades!?
The Ponds were as fun as ever and I'm going to miss them to pieces when they finally depart the series, especially with the tragic foreshadowing that's clearly in play.
The Doctor: "No. Come on, Pond. You’ll be there ’til the end of me."
Amy: "Or vice versa."
When the Doc glanced sadly at Amy, heralding the future death of the companion, it scored a palpable hit. Nice bit of character direction to, by Scottish director Saul Metzstein (2nd ADI on the new “Dredd” film), who generally handled the slippery slope of a New Who ep. quite well, although the opening whirl is still very much “Don’t blink! ‘Cos you’ll miss way too much exposition.”
For now, it's a treat to watch the talented Karen Gillan and Arthur Darvill do their by now accomplished turns as on-again-off-again companions.
Cue Amy's charmingly feisty attitude!
Nefi: "Are you a Queen too?"
Amy: "Yes. Yes I am."
Rory's very long suffering history as the heroine's 'manbag' was underscored by his perfect comic timing and often overlooked but always useful practical medical skills, here topped off with his slightly embarrassed, but stoutly protective reaction to his father's unexpected inclusion in the adventure.
Rory's Dad, Brian, was a nicely judged bit of random too, and another Douglas Adams style addition to the cast. Mark Williams (Arthur Weasley from "Harry Potter", and one of the meta-crew of the good ship "Red Dwarf") was a perfect fit for the slightly Arthur Dentish but game man-who-knows-where-his-trowel-is.
He also got to reference other S.F when in/on the space ark's beach-like wave powered engineering room. (Classic Douglas Adams' whimsical space drive!)
Brian: "We’re outside we’re on a beach."
The Doctor: "Teleports! Oh, I hate teleports! Must have activated on my voice."
Brian: "Ah. Yes. Well. Thank you, Arthur C. Clarke. Teleport. Obviously. I mean, we’re on a spaceship with dinosaurs. Why wouldn’t there be a teleport. In fact, why don’t we just teleport now!"
(Later on, Solomon's Siriusly Cybernetic Corpses expired singing the "Daisy" bicycle song peddled so well in “2001”. )
Best of all, Brian gets to play fetch with a dinosaur! (All together now, follow the bouncing golf ball: On a spaceship!)
[Triceratops nudges Brian's leg.]
The Doctor: "You don’t have any vegetable matter in your trousers, do you, Brian?"
Brian: "Only my balls."
The Doctor: "I’m sorry?"
Brian: "Golf balls… Grassy residue."
Rory: "What are you carrying those around for?"
[Triceratops licks Brian's face]
The Doctor: "Oh, bless."
Ooer! A bit of the old innuendo in this episode, not to mention a very nasty straight out threat of rape by the main villain, Solomon, as he drools over the thought of adding Nefertiti to his collection. (Ick!) Not quite as adulty as Torchwood but it’s a good thing I don’t have offspring so I don’t have to agonize about allowing them to watch this.
I've grown used to Matt Smith's Doctor, and am now more amused than bemused that the actor's decidedly unhinged interpretation of the character neatly expands upon the previous occupants Tennancy while a natural consequence of the madcap pacing of the "New Who" series in general.
He doesn't half get some great lines though!
The Doctor: "The ship does all the engineering. The controls are straightforward. Even a monkey could use them. Oh look, they’re going to. [Rory and Brian don't get it.] Guys, come on. Comedy gold. Where’s a Silurian audience when you need one?"
The Doctor: "Steer away from the Earth. Try not to bump into the moon otherwise the races that live there will be livid."
Regarding the Judgement Of Solomon, the genocidal pirate was actually going to die anyway before the Doctor arrived, and the Doc did give him his customary warning to get out while he could.
The Doctor: "What did you do to the Silurians?"
Solomon: "We ejected them. The robots woke them from cryo-sleep a handful at a time and jettisoned them from the airlocks. We must have left a trail of dust and bone."
The Doctor: "Because you wanted the dinosaurs.
Solomon: Their ship crossed my path. I sent out a distress signal, they let me board. But when I saw the cargo, things became more complex."
The Doctor: "Piracy, then genocide."
Solomon: "Very emotive words, Doctor."
The Doctor: "Oh, I’m a very emotive man."
Of course, there's precedent for the Doctor dealing in 'rough justice' before now. He has, after all, killed the odd PLANET or two. I'm not particularly startled that he assists in lethally sorting out an unrepentantly genocidal villain here, with a little help from the Indian Space Agency. It does, however, sit slightly askew with the lighter side of the story, which is understandably and unashamedly giddy with the notion of "DINOSAURS ON A SPACESHIP!" No, wait, Solomon had the cute golf ball chasing triceratops blasted to death...target a few more missiles up his scruffy arse for good measure, there's a good chap!
Actor David Bradley (Another “Harry Potter” staple, and “Doctor Who” audio adventure vocalist, but I know him best as Cohen, The Barbarian from “The Colour Of Magic”!) deserves a Big Ghoul’s Blouse for his Dickensian portrayal of Solomon.
Oh, and Jon Pertwee’s Doctor was a lot more uptight about nicknaming dinosaurs with contractions of their Latin names. Talk about your Jurassic Doc!
To close on a Douglas Adams note. The Silurian who appears on the computer screen, Bleytal, was played by Richard Hope, whom we know from the “Doctor Who” episodes “The Hungry Earth”/ “Cold Blood”/and “The Wedding Of River Song”, where he had the role of Malonkeh, Chief Scientist of the underWales Silurian colony and, in an alternative timeline, Chief Physician to the Holy Roman Emperor, Winston Churchill! On stage though, he has played Ford Prefect, in a production of “The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide To The Galaxy”.
It was all good fun really, a lighter hearted romp (well, apart from the space pirate lizard genocide!) that made a neat little one off interlude but which nevertheless had some nuggety inclusions that gave us a taste of the story arc to come.
See, now, I got through that whole review without mentioning Kamikaze Adric and killing off the dinosaurs. Which he did. Just sayin'. 'Cos there's a REASON why the Silurians built a space ark, don'tchaknow. Well, alright then, obviously I mentioned it just NOW! I was making a point. Get off my back, I'm no dino!
Anyway, look, Dinosaurs on a spaceship!
Fetch!
Here's the radio-on-demand for the review as broadcast on Zero-G: Science Fiction, Fantasy & Historical Radio:
ondemand.rrr.org.au/grid/20120917131632
Or y'all can ride the podcast, here:
“We were telling stories, trying to guess if the tale told was fact or fiction. M… came up with this story, chilling in the way it was so wretchedly confessed to us. Most of us thought it was fact, but didn’t really want to believe it.
(read fact or fiction? At the end of the background section)
BACKGROUND
“Algonquin Round Table writers, a group of town wits who had converged on New York in the late 1910s. From their positions as columnists, essayists, and drama critics, this "all-star literary vaudeville," as Edmund Wilson called them, nourished a light, sharp, mocking tone aimed at well-known personalities, among whom they counted themselves. Wartime friends Franklin P. Adams, Harold Ross, Heywood Broun, and Alexander Woollcott were among the bantering quipsters who began meeting for daily lunches at the Algonquin Hotel. With so many clever wordsmiths, this self-named "vicious circle" soon became famous for its ingenious puns, quips, and insults appearing immediately in print in someone's column.”
The Algonquin Round Table was a celebrated group of New York City writers, critics, actors and wits. Gathering initially as part of a practical joke, members of "The Vicious Circle", as they dubbed themselves, met for lunch each day at the Algonquin Hotel from 1919 until roughly 1929. At these luncheons they engaged in wisecracks, wordplay and witticisms that, through the newspaper columns of Round Table members, were disseminated across the country.
"Their form of social media was just that: social. Imagine having the time every day to break for a couple hours to have lunch with your funny, intelligent friends? They didn’t post witty replies on Facebook. They said them face-to-face, such as the time Dorothy Parker was asked to use the word “horticulture” in a sentence: “You can lead a horticulture but you can’t make her think.” Was her quick response.
Daily association with each other, both at the luncheons and outside of them, inspired members of the Circle to collaborate creatively. The entire group worked together successfully only once, however, to create a revue called No Sirree! which helped launch a Hollywood career for Round Tabler Robert Benchley.
In its ten years of association, the Round Table and a number of its members acquired national reputations both for their contributions to literature and for their sparkling wit. Although some of their contemporaries, and later in life even some of its members, disparaged the group, its reputation has endured long after its dissolution.
**************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
An elderly lady known to one of us was from the States, was visited with quite often before she passed on. She was a school chum of Tallulah and related this Roundtable tale told to her.
We would be quite interested to learn more of the story and possibly about the incident retold below. If anyone is aware of an occurrence similar to this one in or even outside of Pennsylvania please feel free to tell us about it.
Fact or Fiction?
As Related to Emily over afternoon Tea one spring day……..
“We were playing a game, telling each other stories, and then trying to guess if the story was fact or fiction. Darling Harpo had suggested playing it after the reaction he had received for mischievously calling out a distraught Bea on the facts for a bit of society gossip she had been relating….”
“ We gone midway round the circle, and When challenged, M… came up with this story, chilling in the way it was so wretchedly confessed to us. Most of us thought it was fact, but didn’t really want to believe it had occurred. “
“I give the story as best I can through memory, only ever hearing it the one time years ago now. I believe I have captured its’ essence, but I could never in words captured the tortured look, or trembling manner that was shown when it was told before the group. All I can say is, either way; it was a masterful performance….”
The Confession ( story):
M lit a cigarette, and after sending a few wisps of smoke up to dance upon the ceiling, began the tale…
“I have done may things in my life I have later regretted, but this one, in particular, I have never told a living soul until now….” Drawing a deep breath, the story was continued.
“I have always had a curious streak to observe people’s reactions when in various situations. To get a better grasp of how my characters should act. It greatly piqued me to watch, without being seen, a person’s true emotions coming into play. Ralph Waldo Emerson once famously quoted that “ People do not seem to realize that their opinion of the world is also a confession of character” ... and that intriguing thought was what originally sent me on my quest..
Sometimes I was the protagonist behind the scenes whom, unbeknownst to the victims, had set them up. Sometimes I just followed and watched their behavior. I never intended for anyone to get hurt, emotionally or physically. But sometimes they did! Then I would solace my conscience by telling it that I was only doing it to improve upon my craft. But, then this one time, I probably did go a little bit too far….”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Sends a few more puffs of his cigarette wafting in smoky curls upwards as if in thought on how to actually begin…
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
“As a young man I would attend all different sorts of functions from all different levels of society to come up with ideas. I ran the gauntlet, from cock fights, hobo’s gathering around a campfire, to a wedding reception worthy of the Rockefellers. I noticed that I felt more at home with the hobos, than the fat cats. A condition, I am sure, caused by some flaw in my character. “
“But this instance, the function I encountered definitely belonged to the latter, Rockefeller fat cat , set.
The event, I soon learned, was the Homecoming of a small private College in a wealthy Pennsylvania community. Not my Alma Mater, but just a place I happened to be passing through which I had stopped whilst traveling home. “
“That there was a function going on in that little place was not hard to miss; the attendees were pouring out onto the streets from all sorts of establishments, and into others, including the bar I was holed up in. After a while I noticed a change in dress of the revelers costumes. School blazers and sensible dresses began to be replaced by tuxes and swishing satin gowns and colourful frocks. Their adornments also changed, from school ties to bow ties, Boaters (straw hats) to top hats for the men: Gold jewelry was replaced by sparkling necklaces and rings upon gloved hands for the ladies.”
“Another change was, that by then, the lot of them was pretty much plastered, but then, so was I!”
“ Finally I was flushed out of my hiding spot , and went for a walk outside to escape the noisy crowd.
I started to circle the upper portion of a large rural park that ran next to my late hiding spot. As I strolled, I noticed a man with a heavy coat and cap, rather sinisterly watching the crowd, standing against a tree just up ahead of me. When he saw me coming towards him, he turned down a path leading into the shadowy depths of the woods. I watched him go down for a minute, and observed that it led down to a small valley, where in the middle, surrounded by trees, stood a quite deserted football field. The path less traveled tonight, I thought to myself.
I kept to the path well-travelled however, and soon after turning a corner, came upon a young couple snogging on a bench. I stopped to watch, my mind racing with a mixture of drink inspired contemplations upon the little scene before me! “
“She was dolled up like a picture actress. Wearing a slithery glossy red gown that shined in the gas lamps pooling light, with matching gloves and a shimmering gold purse, she was a breathing Pygmalion . The jewels she was adorned with, rhinestones, I assumed, glittered happily as she moved. He was in a tux, an Errol Flynn moustache and gold watch chain and fob at his waist. They had no idea anyone was near them! Of course, Then, my cursed foot gave me away all too soon, as it stepped upon a twig, snapping it loudly, calling the couples attention to my peeping. Seeing me they got up and walked past me, snooty noses up in the air. She made a rude noise that would have better fitted an old mare in a barn. Well pardon my eyes I though, stinging from the obvious smite upon my character, which I always had held in high regard. Why dress in that manner and think no one deserves to take notice unless they meet with your approval? The princess was obviously not amused…”
“ I watched with disdain, and then , still transfixed, followed at a discreet distance as they walked back the way I had come. For some reason I was mesmerized by the pair of snobs, watching as they moved, her red gown swishing and swirling like a red waterfall upon the paved stones. They were holding closely onto one another, once again totally oblivious to their surroundings. There was a story there, if only…. “
“They stopped, and I went into the shadow of a tree. Looking back up the path they had come, I thought they may have seen my shadow. For they then looking again to each other, she murmured something and they turned down the very path, the path less travelled, that the heavy coated man had slinked away down. I felt maybe I should have run up and cautioned them against taking that path, but I was still stung by their rude reaction… Besides, I was rather curious to see if anything would happen.
In for pence, in for a pound I remember repeating to myself, as I discreetly continued my stalk.”
“I went into the shadows, seeing a large set of rocks beside the path I climbed up, getting a view of the path winding down into the small valley. I was just above a gas lamp that lit the path as it reached the valley floor below. The lamps lite effectively shadowed the rock whence I was perched. I could see the pair walking in and out of the shadows of the trees. Just as they reached the circle of light below me they stopped and embraced. I watched, totally unabashed.
Then, as I grew bored, or maybe my drink induced fog was started to clear my mind back to reality, I slowly started to make an exit stage right , when a shadow detached itself from a tree directly below me. I stayed mute and froze in my tracks, watching the event I knew was going to occur, began to unfold. The man’s shadowy figure approached the oblivious couple carefully, I could see his head jerking about making sure that the couple was alone, and unprotected. Picking up a chunk of wood he entered the circle of light, which now formed a small stage where a tragedy worthy of Shakespeare was most likely about to unfold!”
“I watched as the startled lovers became aware and tried to stare down the newcomer.
Now in the light, I could see He had shed his coat and gained a mask, but it was definitely the same sinister man I had seen earlier, obviously up to no good. The Errol Flynn wannabe put the girl behind him in defense, the masked man merely raised branch and whacked him on the side of his head, it broke with a sickening crunch, and her gallant defender went down like a sack of cement.
The sinister figure then turned his attention to the now helpless damsel in distress. Raising a cupped hand up he said something in a raspy voice that startled her. Apparently he was asking for her jewels, and the horror struck damsel had arrogantly not yet realized she was being mugged. The ladies long earrings shimmering as she shook her head no in response. The rings on her gloved fingers flashed as her hand went to her throat as she clearly cried out,” not my necklace”, in a hapless act of defiance. In my mind came a picture of a small kitten trying to defy a snarling wolf. She threw the gold purse at him, but he merely caught it, and placed it in his pocket. I remember feeling strangely detached, It may have been shock, but I found myself watching without one ounce of regret. The only thought I could remember was her glittering necklace, maybe they had not been rhinestones, which meant that she actually was wealthy and probably had been looking down her snooty nose upon me, like she probably did her own servants !!.
Well than she obviously did not desire my help, I decided, like she had quite rudely not desired my looking at her earlier… and after all , in her world, servants should be standing quietly in the background, seen but not heard. So, I decided that I wasn’t going to help unless absolutely life or death. Let the little lamb be trimmed of her rich wool I said to myself. She did show spunk, I will admit, but that’s all it was, a show. She went limp as he reached up, grabbing her hand away, than began pulling of the rings as she stood mute with disbelief. The diamond bracelet was wrenched unceremoniously from her wrist. Dropping her hand, he pocketed her rings and bracelet. Than he once again went for her necklace, and she backed up, shaking her head, earrings again shimmering as the pair innocently bounced away from her long hair. Then I saw a flash of silver in his hand, and she fainted dead away at the sight of his ugly blade…”.
“The masked man knelt over to her fallen body. The shiny red gown had spilled around her on the ground, Laying about her inert svelte figure like a pool of red lava. Reaching down and in he claimed her necklace, grasping it up and away from her throat. He looked at it for a few seconds, letting it sparkle in the moon’s light like slivery falling rain.
Then squatting beside her, he pulled away her hair, and yanked her taunting earrings free. He methodically felt along her figure, missing nothing. Then he again produced the knife, slicing off the brooch from her gown’s sash.
He pulled off her red high heels and threw tem deep into the woods.
Then he left her and went over to the unconscious escort, the bloody limb next to him” in quick, precise fashion, ‘Errol’s’, watch chain and fob were pulled free and pocketed. Then he reached in and pulled out the unlucky devils pocket book. Then pulling off ‘Errol’s’ shoes they soon joined the ladies high heels.
Arising calmly, he slowly looked around as he stowed the stolen articles and his knife away. He spent a split second longer on the area I was hidden, causing a shiver to make itself felt! Then, removing the mask he walked to where his long coat lay, and reclaiming it, he continued serenely on his way down the path. I watched in heavy silence as he disappeared in the woods, only to reappear by the football field. It was then that I stole away back up the path, careful not to be seen.”
“And no, I did not give any cry of alarm, did not involve myself by seeking or giving the hapless couple aid. I simply turned and left. I came away with nothing, no ideas, no new feelings for a character, just a sour taste in my mouth and an upset stomach, which I soon tried to relieve by stopping in at the next drinking establishment I came across. Beer didn’t help, so I switched to Scotch…!”
“ About an hour later I heard a siren and sensed commotion outside the confides of my prison. I did not go out to investigate.”
“After a fit less night of unrestful sleep, I left the next morning, daring not to read a paper, or stop there for breakfast ( having a late tea later a few hours away , I put the place and its memories to my back. “
“Ashamedly I did not render any assistance those poor souls, and I admit what I what I did was criminal.. But then in my defense , they ………………….., ”
“Yes?”
“It was at this point that the confession was interrupted by the appearance of a messenger boy sent for M….. Who took his leave, with a wicked smile that seemed to convey relief that an outcome of the story would not have to be faced?
Obliviously loving the mystery it created by the timely appearance of the messenger.” He never could be persuaded to return to his story only smiling that wicked little smile.
So, the worse of it was we never knew… because of the messenger boy’s interruption, never to learn to our satisfaction if the story was true or not..”
“How we all did hate that!”
****************************************************
There is some question as to the identity of M…. There are six members with M in their initial. It could have been a non-regular or even a nickname. If anyone else has heard of this tale, or could place a finger for us as to who M… may have been, we would welcome the enlightenment.
Charter members of the Round Table included:
Franklin Pierce Adams, columnist
Robert Benchley, humorist and actor
Heywood Broun, columnist and sportswriter (married to Ruth Hale)
Marc Connelly, playwright
Ruth Hale, freelance writer who worked for women's rights
George S. Kaufman, playwright and director
Dorothy Parker
“The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.”
“If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.”
“What fresh hell is this?”
Robert E. Sherwood, author and playwright
John Peter Toohey, publicist
Alexander Woollcott, critic and journalist
"The English have an extraordinary ability for flying into a great calm."
Membership was not official or fixed for so many others who moved in and out of the Circle. Some of these included:
Tallulah Bankhead, actress
Edna Ferber, author and playwright
Margalo Gillmore, actress
Jane Grant, journalist and feminist (married to Ross)
Beatrice Kaufman, editor and playwright (married to George S. Kaufman)
Margaret Leech, writer and historian
Neysa McMein, magazine illustrator
Harpo Marx, comedian and film star
Alice Duer Miller, writer
Donald Ogden Stewart, playwright and screenwriter
Frank Sullivan, journalist and humorist
Deems Taylor, composer
Estelle Winwood, actress
Peggy Wood, actress
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
Polymer Clay, Seed Beads, Brass Nails, eroded scallop shells collected on Sanibel Island, graphite,encased in metal candy box lid, 8 3/4 " x 8 3/4 ", 2008. sold
In Greek mythology, Sisyphus was a king punished in Tartarus by being cursed to roll a huge boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll down again, and to repeat this throughout eternity (from wikipedia )
Today, Sisyphean can be an adjective for an activity that is unending and/or repetitive (beadwork?!?). featured in word of day on 4/22/10 wordsmith.org/words/sisyphean.html
My friend and master wordsmith Bill Barol (Forbes, HuffPo, Time, Newsweek, etc.) has a new mystery novel out and, in a moment of impaired judgement, decided he wanted to use one of my photographs ("Highballin'") on the cover.
Head over to Amazon.com and get your copy today!
www.amazon.com/gp/product/0615533825/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=U...
The doxa thus constitutes a set (a "network", a system) of values, maxims around some (all, but some more than others) aspects and elements of the reality meant. It is situated beyond language, but below the discourse on which it tacitly bases intercomprehension.
"Each object of the world can pass from a closed, silent existence to an oral state, open to the appropriation of society. "(Barthes 1957:216)
We can therefore describe a doxic system as an evolving hierarchical field, where different models follow one another in the centre. These models bring together one or more "ideologems" or presuppositions, all of which are defined on one or more axes and in one or more fields, and which are expressed in the discourse by a mythical image or set of images. All these models, by their hierarchical and oppositionary character, contribute to the realization and actualization of the basic ideological meaning that is the perpetuated existence of a hierarchical society, where the terms can change but the structure must remain immutable.
The Idols of the Tribe have their foundation in human nature itself, and in the tribe or race of men. For it is a false assertion that the sense of man is the measure of things. On the contrary, all perceptions as well of the sense as of the mind are according to the measure of the individual and not according to the measure of the universe. And the human understanding is like a false mirror, which, receiving rays irregularly, distorts and discolors the nature of things by mingling its own nature with it.
— Novum Organum, Aphorism XLI
The "ideologems", the units that make up the doxic system, are structured in two (diversified) dimensions. First, there are the axes or axiologies: bipolar lines whose ends are absolutely opposed notions, such as Bien-Mal, Order-Disorder.. The axes can be presented as continua, with "ambivalent" terms (e. g. unhappy love), but the two extremities always remain dominant and determine the final value. Still, one of the two opposing terms is evaluated positively and the other negatively. One axis can flow from another or materialize it.
Doxa (ancient Greek δόξα; from verb δοκεῖν dokein, "to appear", "to seem", "to think" and "to accept" is a Greek word meaning common belief or popular opinion. Used by the Greek rhetoricians as a tool for the formation of argument by using common opinions, the doxa was often manipulated by sophists to persuade the people, leading to Plato's condemnation of Athenian democracy.
The word doxa picked up a new meaning between the 3rd and 1st centuries BC when the Septuagint translated the Hebrew word for "glory" (כבוד, kavod) as doxa. This translation of the Hebrew Scriptures was used by the early church and is quoted frequently by the New Testament authors. The effects of this new meaning of doxa as "glory" is made evident by the ubiquitous use of the word throughout the New Testament and in the worship services of the Greek Orthodox Church, where the glorification of God in true worship is also seen as true belief. In that context, doxa reflects behavior or practice in worship, and the belief of the whole church rather than personal opinion. It is the unification of these multiple meanings of doxa that is reflected in the modern terms of orthodoxy and heterodoxy.This semantic merging in the word doxa is also seen in Russian word слава (slava), which means glory, but is used with the meaning of belief, opinion in words like православие (pravoslavie, meaning orthodoxy, or, literally, true belief)..
In Plato's Gorgias (dialogue), Plato presents the Sophists, rhetors who taught people how to speak for the promise of commercial success, as wordsmiths that ensnare and use the malleable doxa of the "multitude" to their advantage without shame. In this and other writings, Plato relegated doxa as being a belief, unrelated to reason, that resided in the unreasoning, lower-parts of the soul. This viewpoint extended into the concept of doxasta in Plato's Theory of Forms, which states that physical objects are manifestations of doxa and are thus not in their true form. Plato's framing of doxa as the opponent of knowledge led to the classical opposition of error to truth, which has since become a major concern in Western philosophy. (However, in the Theaetetus and in the Meno, Plato has Socrates suggest that knowledge is orthos doxa for which one can provide a logos, thus initiating the traditional definition of knowledge as "justified true belief".) Thus, error is considered in Occident as pure negativity, which can take various forms, among them the form of illusion. As such, doxa may ironically be defined as the "philosopher's sin". In classical rhetoric, it is contrasted with episteme.
Plato's student Aristotle objected to Plato's theory of doxa. Aristotle perceived that doxa's value was in practicality and common usage, in contrast with Plato's philosophical purity relegating doxa to deception. Further, Aristotle held doxa as the first step in finding knowledge, as doxa had found applications in the physical world and those who held it had great amount of tests done to prove it and thus reason to believe it.[Aristotle clarifies this by categorizing the accepted truths of the physical world that are passed down from generation to generation as endoxa. Endoxa is a more stable belief than doxa, because it has been "tested" in argumentative struggles in the Polis by prior interlocutors. The use of endoxa in the Stagirite's Organon can be found in Aristotle's Topics and Rhetoric.Trying to make a list of universal doxas is therefore considered utopian, and it is a good game to present the fruits of these attempts (let us think of the Declaration of Human Rights) as necessarily illegitimate since, precisely, being the expression of a dated and localized culture. On the other hand, from a descriptive (and not normative moral) eristic perspective, a list of doxas such as one encounters in a course of rhetoric, therefore having no claim to found an ideology, can be tinged with universality, in so far as it purports to account for human argumentative activity, regardless of cultural and social groups. The "universal doxas" (in the course of the Manual of Polemics, Muras devotes 130 pages out of 340) as rhetorical (and not philosophical and even less moral) objects, revived in ever new contexts, make it possible, as preliminary agreements (Perelman), to argue.ideology "cannot be considered as a monolithic system:" the ideological activity of a society presents itself as an ever complete and never successful approximation of a system of thought. "(Grivel 1980: d4)
On the other hand, he points out that the "universality rate" of text universals fluctuates (Grivel 1978:39) - meaning that the doxic system has centre-periphery movements and vice versa.
In any case, just like the language system as a system of potentialities, ideology continues to exist. Doxic language changes, language remains - or even: language changes so that language can perpetuate its existence. "The rule includes the novelty of its manifestation, which is its rule. "(Grivel 1973:63)
It is clear that the conversion of history into nature serves to prolong the current order of things: The present state is proclaimed nature, i. e. realization of the essence of the human being, thus morally good. History becomes Nature which becomes Moral: thus any attack on societal structures becomes immorality itself. (Cf. Barthes 1957:151.) In the final analysis, doxa, for Barthes, is the image that the bourgeoisie has of the world and imposes on the world. The bourgeois strategy is to fill the whole world with its culture and morality, making it forget its own status as a historical class:"The status of the bourgeoisie is peculiar, historical: the man whom it represents will be universal, eternal; (...) Finally, the first idea of the perfectible, mobile world will produce the overturned image of an immutable humanity, defined by an infinitely renewed identity. "(Barthes 1957:250-251)
Pierre Bourdieu, in his Outline of a Theory of Practice, used the term doxa to denote what is taken for granted in any particular society. The doxa, in his view, is the experience by which "the natural and social world appears as self-evident". It encompasses what falls within the limits of the thinkable and the sayable ("the universe of possible discourse"), that which "goes without saying because it comes without saying". The humanist instances of Bourdieu's application of notion of doxa are to be traced in Distinction where doxa sets limits on social mobility within the social space through limits imposed on the characteristic consumption of each social individual: certain cultural artifacts are recognized by doxa as being inappropriate to actual social position, hence doxa helps to petrify social limits, the "sense of one's place", and one's sense of belonging, which is closely connected with the idea that "this is not for us" (ce n'est pas pour nous). Thus individuals become voluntary subjects of those incorporated mental structures that deprive them of more deliberate consumption.
Doxa and opinion denote, respectively, a society's taken-for-granted, unquestioned truths, and the sphere of that which may be openly contested and discussed.
Bourdieu explains the term "doxa" in his interview with theorist Terry Eagleton. To explain the term, he uses an example about the common beliefs in school. He asked students what qualifies as achievement in school. In response, the students on the lower end of the academic spectrum viewed themselves as being inferior or not as smart as the students who excelled. The responses are where doxa comes into play, because that was the common belief and attitude that the students had based on what society pushed them to believe. Bourdieu believes that doxa derived from socialization, because socialization also deals with beliefs deriving from society, and as we grow up in the environment, we tend to believe what society tells us is correct.
It is a socially accepted misconception, that if you do not score as high as someone else then you are obviously not as smart as they are. Scores do not prove that one is smarter, because there are many different factors that play into what you score on a test. People may excel within a certain topic and fail at another. However, even though it is a misconception, people tend to partake in common practices to make themselves feel better. For example, the students who feel inferior due to popular belief that they are not as smart as the students who score higher than them, may experiment with drugs to ease the insecurities they face. Bourdieu believes that doxa is more than common belief. He believes that it also has the potential to give rise to common action.
While doxa is used as a tool for the formation of argument, it should be noted that it is also formed by argument. The former can be understood as told by James A. Herrick in The History and Theory of Rhetoric: An Introduction: "The Sophists in Gorgias hold that rhetoric creates truth that is useful for the moment out of doxa, or the opinions of the people, through the process of argument and counterargument. Socrates will have no part of this sort of 'truth' which, nevertheless, is essential to a democracy." Importantly noted, democracy, which by definition is the manifestation of public opinion, is dependent upon, and therefore also constrained by, the same limits imposed upon the individuals responsible for its establishment. Due to compromised opinions within a society, as well as opinions not counted for due to inaccessibility and apathy, doxa is not homogeneous, nor is it created agreeably. Rather, it is pliable and imperfect—the outcome of an ongoing power struggle between clashing "truths".
To expand upon the quote from his Outline of a Theory of Practice in the above section, "Use in sociology and anthropology", Bourdieu writes, "When there is a quasi-perfect correspondence between the objective order and the subjective principles of organization (as in ancient societies) the natural and social world appears as self-evident. This experience we shall call doxa". Adam Smith of the University of Chicago observes in his article "The limitations of doxa: agency and subjectivity from an archaeological point of view": "Bourdieu consigns the practices of the denizens of ancient societies to the realm of doxa, their lives cast as routines predicated upon the mis-recognition of social orders as natural ways of life, rather than political products."This calls to attention that the notion of social order as naturally occurring is misperceived, disregarding its creation by political argumentation.
Doxa, then, can be understood as created by argument as well as used in the formation of argument, essential for the establishment of democratic policies.
I tried very hard
but the demon within
me I could not tame
a make believe
wordsmith my so
called notoriety to
fame ..on the chessboard
of our destiny life is a game
what were my parents
thinking when they gave me
a name ...a name that from a
foetus an extension of my
parents dreams I became
life last sixty years has not
been the same ...
caught as a silhouette
between the candle
the flame ...
on my grave no tombstone
no epitaph ..no claim
a blurry image within a frame
I stuttered when I told her
je taime
a sartorial Sagittarius
a broken Bow
a broken Arrow
misguided Aim
#beggarpoet
Children's Fun Festival
Childrens Records
Heidi Ho HH 5005
1958
Because both active AND passive kids should enjoy just being kids!
Live by the heat of your breath.
Run by the sweat of your temple.
Love by the tear stains on your cheek.
Be the products of your emotions...
Be the products of yourself
Do not merely subsist.
Do not live gray, and colorless.
Paint your sorrows against your walls
in cerulean stars, and
your anger in coxcomb flames,
and when you find joy,
may you paint it with golden wings. -- Already @heresyandheartattacks
Looking back at a night in New Caledonia with the @YogaSlackers gazing at the stars and enjoying the sounds of the ocean.
I've been tagged by *juice and www.flickr.com/photos/14519758@N06/
[ 1 ] I am not a wordsmith writing is not my strength. This is why I usually write short comments, but conversely I am able to appreciate your photos all the more.
[ 2 ] Vegetable over fruit.
[ 3 ] I love animals, perhaps even more than people, and yet I still eat them, this grieves me. But I will not become vegan.
[ 4 ] I admire and hold in high regard those people who go out of their way to preserve a specific animal species.
[ 5 ] My favourite flower is the poppy. In its fragility it still stands up to the biggest wind.
[ 6 ] My dog responds to the name Pipacs (poppy). I fear that I could kill for her.
[ 7 ] The full moon excites me.
[ 8 ] I have three homes, Transylvania, where I was born, Canada, where I live, and Hungary, where I belong ethnically.
[ 9 ] If I would have to describe myself with one word it would be, “multifarious”.
[ 10 ] A second word would be, “passionate”.
[ 11 ] My friends claim that I can be a little hissy occasionally. I don’t even know…
[ 12 ] When I was a child I wanted to be a painter, and then a singer, an actor, a dancer, after which I finally became graphic designer.
[ 13 ] This is why, if I can, I try to go to the museum, the theatre, the movies, a contemporary dance performance, and I also watch "American Idol" on TV.
[ 14 ] I spend a lot of time alone, but I am never bored.
[ 15 ] In everything I appreciate the end product and not how it was brought about.
[ 16 ] Photography seems to be a lasting love for me.
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[ 1 ] Nem vagyok a szavak embere, az írás sem erősségem, ezért általában rövid kommenteket írok, de annál jobban értékelem a szép fotóitokat.
[ 2 ] Inkább zöldség, mint gyümölcs.
[ 3 ] Szeretem az állatokat, talán jobban, mint az embereket, de mégis megeszem őket. Ezért bánkódom is, mégsem leszek vega.
[ 4 ] Csodálom és nagyra értékelem azokat az embereket, akik mindent megtesznek egy-egy állatfaj fennmaradásáért.
[ 5 ] Kedvenc virágom a pipacs, törékeny, de mégis ellenáll a legnagyobb szélnek is.
[ 6 ] Pipacs névre hallgat a kutyám, érte - attól tartok - ölni tudnék!
[ 7 ] A telihold felizgat.
[ 8 ] Három hazám van: ahol születtem Erdély, ahol élek Kanada és ahova etnikailag tartozom és van otthonom Magyarország.
[ 9 ] Ha egy szóval kellene jellemezzem magam, az "változatos" lenne.
[ 10 ] A másadik szó "szenvedélyes".
[ 11 ] A barátaim azt állítják, néha kicsit hisztis vagyok. Nem is tudom...
[ 12 ] Amikor gyerek voltam, szerettem volna festőművész lenni, majd énekes, aztán színész, táncos, végül tervező grafikus lettem.
[ 13 ] Ezért, ha tehetem, járok múzeumba, színházba, moziba, kortárs tánc előadásra, és nézem a Megasztárt.
[ 14 ] Elég sok időt töltök egyedül, de unatkozni nem szoktam.
[ 15 ] Mindenben a végeredményt értékelem, és nem azt, ahogyan készült.
[ 16 ] A fotózás, úgy tűnik, tartós szerelem lesz.